To Be A Spartan: Journal
by Faldon113
Summary: This is the Journal of Spartan 113 Klare with assorted additions from other characters. Not much more to say, really. Just gives some insight to how Kaine thinks and functions. This story is being transferred to a new story called A Soldier's Heart, and will be posted on Archive of Our Own.
1. Parangosky: Goodnight, My Angel

25211224

Excerpt from Margaret Parangosky's Personal Journal:

The happiest day of my life was the day I gave birth to my daughter, Allison. I'd never believed in love at first chance; Terrance chased me for nearly a year before I gave him so much as a glance. And yet...the moment I saw her face I knew I would love her forever. I only felt love like that once more; the day I met my granddaughters, Lillian and Klare. They were so small and fragile and...perfect. There was no doubt in my mind that there was nothing I would not sacrifice for them. Absolutely nothing. And in the last ten years, they have forced light into the dark and dangerous life I have chosen as my own. I've seen agents lose themselves in this work and always wondered if I'd follow the same path. It was these two little pieces of sunshine that kept me safe.

Which makes it all the harder to sit here, watching as the machines show Klare's heart slow.

None of us understand what happened. She was healthy and happy on her birthday but...by the time summer came around, she couldn't leave her bed. I pulled every string I have, as did Terrance, but no doctor we pulled in was able to tell us what was wrong. All we could do was watch her waste away, becoming barely more than a shadow of the child she had once been.

But this illness didn't stop her light. I'm starting to think nothing can. She had Lillian come to her room every day and tell her what had happened in school. Terrance made a cart she could sit in and would tow her around the village on his bike so she could get some fresh air. I taught her how to sew and she started embroidering small handkerchiefs and giving them away. She even insisted on helped Allison cook for the hospital bake sale, to raise money for children that could be saved. It's almost as though her light has grown brighter in direct defiance to the poison that is trying to snuff it out.

But she is only a little girl, and she can only fight so long. Which is why I'm here, sitting beside her bed and waiting for the moment that I lose a part of my heart that I'll never get back. The doctors tried to keep her in the hospital, but Klare...she wouldn't accept it. She insisted on coming home to help decorate for Christmas. Her room; my god, it looks like Santa's own workshop in here. There are lights and garlands and more toys than she could ever hope to play with...

Klare is sleeping for now. She doesn't have much strength left, and she asked me to sing to her. I don't have the best voice but...how could I refuse her? And the way she smiled...it almost made me think that my song couldn't possibly be as bad as I thought it was. I even got a little laugh whenever I would call her an angel. Makes me wonder if she realizes just how much of an angel she actually is. My little angel...as bright and good and kind and beautiful as any angel could ever hope to be. There was never really a need for religion in my life, but I've prayed more in the last couple months than I think some priests will pray in their lives. Anything to spare her, anything to give her one more day. And even though those prayers aren't being answered, I hope that any afterlife that might exist realizes just how precious this little child is.

I'm trying to stay strong for her. The sight of tears always makes her upset and I don't want her final hours to be tainted by anything. Let her last memory be of peace and joy, not of sadness or fear. That's what I keep telling myself, but I'm not sure I can keep my promise. I'm not sure...how I'm going to survive this. People keep saying that I've lived without her before and that I can do it again, but...if you live your entire life without clean air and water, then gain them only to lose them at a later time, do you really live? Or do you simply not die? I'm not sure I know...and I'm afraid to find out.

Terrance has checked in on us a couple times. His heart is as heavy as mine, and it's almost more than I can bare to see the agony on his face. From the glances he's given me, I'm almost sure I look the same. Parents were never meant to outlive their children, and grandparents were certainly never meant to outlive their grandchildren. I feel like there's a gaping hole in my heart and she isn't even gone yet; I'm afraid of what I will become when I lose her. Even if it's made people accuse me of going soft, I've tried to live a life that she would be proud of these last few years. But now, as I lay her beside her, I'm afraid it will all be for naught. I'm afraid I will become the one thing she was always afraid of. I'm afraid...

Wait...the beeping...oh god...no... _NO_!

* * *

 _Babble Time: The song used in this chapter is_ Goodnight, my Angel _. There are multiple versions of this song and all are lovely, so listen to whichever you want._


	2. Sam: Can You Feel the Love Tonight

25240817

Excerpt from Sierra 034's Personal Journal:

You know, I always thought that John was pretty damn smart. Not the _smartest_ of course, that's Dean, but still smarter than your average person. I'm having to rethink that opinion now. How the hell can he live inside his own mind and not realize that he's in love with Klare?

It's so bloody obvious, as Kelly would say. I mean, there's always been something between them, but everyone on the base has noticed his feelings towards her by now. Well, everyone except the redhead in question, but I'll rant about that later. Hell, even Mendez has noticed and I think he's getting just as frustrated as the rest of us.

Just last week, Klare went on one of her solo missions, which isn't too worrisome by itself. She's gone on more solo missions than the rest of us combined, and she's damn good at it. But she left really early in the morning and wasn't back by sundown, which was pretty strange. Her missions never go on that long. Our Instructors seemed a little on edge, yeah, but John was basically a human-shaped ball of panic. He even went so far as to pace the barracks after lights out was called. Nearly kept me awake the entire damn night, the brat. And when we had morning formation the next day, she was standing there waiting for us, a massive black-eye the only proof that she hadn't been on vacation. I thought John was going to collapse with relief.

And yet he continues to insist that he does not love her. 'She's one of my teammates,' he's said instead. 'She's a good friend. She's my Second-in-Command. She's my sister. She's my responsibility. She's my backup.' Everything except, 'She's the woman I love.' Which she is! Hell, he wrote her a damn poem once! Sure, he burned it before he ever read it to her, but come on. How much more obvious can your feelings get, my friend?

Kelly and I made plans to shove the two of them into a closet and lock the door, but James and Fred said Klare would just kick down the door or go through a wall. Probably, damn her and her stubbornness. We've tried separating them from the group during missions, but they are perfectly professional at those times. Hell, one time Jai literally tripped Klare while John was her spotter just so he had to catch and hold her. All that got us was a reprimand from Mendez and a cracked jaw for Jai from a redhead punch.

I'm not even sure why this is so important to all of us. So he loves her and I'm pretty sure she loves him; so what? Their ignorance should not bother me as much as it does, but I can't just ignore my emotions like they can. Which leaves me here, stewing in my frustration, while the pair in question sit across the fire from me, playfully bickering about which UNSC Admiral is the most incompetent. Why can he see how her eyes light up when he smiles? Why can't she notice how he slides closer to her than anyone has the right to? They're both so blind! And that's not the _worst_ part! Oh no, the _worst_ part is...

...they're happy.

I think that's what irritating everyone the most about these two. It's so painfully obvious they love each other, and we want them together, but they're happy where they are. Klare has lectured me so many times about how soldiers should be wary about deep connections. She hasn't told us much about her family aside from her sister, but she always sounded to firm in her stance about soldier relationships and they danger they pose...she had to have seen it. This has to be from experience. If she learned that John loved her, she would freak out. She'd try to put an entire system's distance between them, even as they sat side-by-side. And John, poor love-sick John, wouldn't know how to back off. He doesn't give up on what he wants, no matter how much it hurts him.

If they learn the truth...it could break them.

So though it irritates the living hell out of me, I'm going to back off. They can go the rest of their lives without realizing the other's feelings, so long as it means they're happy. So long as they stay the amazing team they are. I can't ask for more than their happiness, because I love them. Not like they love each other, true, but I do love them. They are my dearest brother and my favorite sister. My commanders. My good luck charm and protective Wild Cat. That's what's most important.

But for the record, I won't complain if they admit their feelings!

* * *

 _Babble Time: The song used in this chapter is_ Can You Feel the Love Tonight _from the Lion King._


	3. 10,000 Miles

Time: 0600\

March 25, 2525\

Reach

Eric got me this journal so that I could vent my thoughts and feelings without worrying about information leaks. It's a bio journal, meaning only someone with my DNA can open it, guaranteeing that everything is safe. It was so sweet, I didn't have the heart to tell him that writing physically hurts. Then again, everything hurts, so what's a little more pain? Considering how much crap I have in my head, it might be a good idea to put some of it to paper.

So, where to start? Well, I'm Klare...oh, right. I'm not anymore. My name is Kaine, now. Kaine Faldon. Right, need to remember that. Okay, starting again.

I'm Kaine and I'm the adopted daughter of Eric Faldon, an ODST Commander. We live on Reach, out in the middle of nowhere. I have several brother and sisters...or I did, at least. I'm not sure how many I have left. Gah, dammit! Why did Eric give me a pen instead of a pencil; I can't erase pen! ...okay, okay, that's probably why he did it. Guess I need to stop censoring myself. One more time, from the top.

I'm Klare McCoy, but I've gone by Spartan 113 for the last several years of my life. I was one of seventy-five children that were part of the Spartan program; a program that was designed to turn us into the best weapons any human could ever be. About a month ago, we underwent the last round of augmentations. A little less than half of us died, and I was nearly one of them. It was only because of my AI that I lived at all, but because of reasons I don't fully understand, the doctors had tried to kill me on purpose, so now I'm hiding. Eric is an old friend that is trying to protect me, but neither of us are sure what's going to happen next.

...well, this journal is supposed to be where I put down my thoughts, so...

I know I should be angry at the doctors that tried to kill me, but I'm not. They were just following orders, and I've spent too long being raised as a soldier to begrudge them that. I should also be angry at the person who gave them the order, but I'm still not. There really isn't room left for me to feel anything but pain and sadness. The pain isn't even entirely physical, though that is a large chunk of it. My heart actually hurts, and it's all because I'm not with my brothers and sisters. For eight years, they've been the only constant in my life. I was never that far away from them, even when I wished I was. We had a saying that we would travel as far as we had to, just to stay with each other. 'Anything,' we'd said. 'Even ten-thousand miles.'

Yet here I am. Alone.

I can't blame my siblings. They think I'm dead, so it's really my own damn fault they aren't trying to find me. An argument could be made for blaming the person who ordered my death, and I probably will, once I don't feel so numb. Still, every time I move and feel my muscles seize up because of all the chemical enhancements they've had to endure, I can't help but wish at least one brother or sister was nearby. I hate the saying 'Misery loves company', but it's kinda true. If there was just one other person that I could talk to that knew what I was going through, it would help immensely. Eric has done as much as he can, but he doesn't know what it's like to have your bones randomly break and knit back together. He's never had his eyes bleed for no reason.

Vincent, my AI, says that I'm undergoing a variety of unique mental aberrations. The betrayal by the people who had raised me. The immense physical alterations that I was subjected too. The loss of my siblings. All of this has combined to throw me into shock, but I can't even have a normal shock now, because of my damn augmentations. There's no telling how long it will last, any side effects I might suffer; we're going in blind, and I know that should stress me out but it doesn't. This is so aggravating, especially because it should be but I don't actually feel it. I know how I should react, but I can't. I feel like I'm ten-thousand miles away, and I can't get back to where I want to be.

James. Carris. Fred. Cal. Kelly. Sam. Serin. Niomi. Randal. Will. Linda. Sorin. John. You've always been the closest to my heart; if I can call anyone a friend, it's you guys. But I just want to feel again, so I can honestly tell you...

I miss you.

* * *

 _Babble Time: The song this chapter is based on is_ 10,000 Miles _by Mary Chapin Carpenter._


	4. Better than I

Time: 1900\

April 02, 2525\

Reach

Okay, now the anger is setting in, and I'm not as happy about that as I thought I'd be. Being angry takes a lot of energy that I'm not sure I can spare right now. In the last week my heart has stopped six times because of stress and lack of energy; I've never been so terrified. Vincent is doing what he can to keep everything working, but the idea of an AI messing with my body is almost as scary as the thought of dying. I'm starting to understand why ONI was so concerned about him.

Doubt has come along with the anger, and it's really getting on my nerves. I don't sleep anymore; every second of every day is spent wondering if I could have done something different. Several times I have caught myself in mental debates about whether I should try and contact the others. I don't really want to go back, but the idea of letting someone know I am alive is a very tempting one. I'd also like to know which ones made it through the augmentations; Vincent hasn't been able to find out about everyone. I know John's team made it, as did mine, but everyone else is pretty much up in the air.

I've also thought about contacting Chief Mendez. I'd always known he liked me, but I hadn't known how much until John had told me where the rings came from. Now I feel like I owe him the truth, if no one else. The thought that he thinks he lost his pseudo-daughter as well as his real one makes me sick to my stomach.

I also think about John a lot. We have such sucky timing, getting married just before augmentations. Sometimes I wonder how he reacted to the news of my death, and then I have to think about something else because my chest tightens and I can't breathe. There's a lot of things I regret right now, but leaving him has to be at the top of the list. Right now, I'm basically banking on the hope that I'll be able to tell him the truth someday. The pain should lessen in time, but the question is if I'm going to survive that long. I'd always rolled my eyes when the medical instructor had talked about broken hearts, but it's not so ridiculous anymore. Not when I feel as though it would be less painful to cut my heart out of my chest then leave it in for one more second.

All these thoughts plague me, but there's nothing I can do about them. We're not entirely sure who ordered my death, or their reasonings, so I can't risk revealing myself. The UNSC is not known for their mercy; I'd just be executed for real if I tell anyone who I am. Thus the living in the middle of friggin nowhere with Eric. He's an amazing man, and we get along for the most part, but being the only two humans for miles can get a little aggravating. It actually got so bad I left the house and am currently hiding in the woods. I'd go back and apologize, but my legs decided to seize up again and I can't walk. Thus the writing.

Strangely enough, sitting out here has reminded me of Instructor Gorse. He was an ODST, and our least favorite instructor, mostly because he hated anyone under the age of thirty and made sure everyone knew it. Anyway, he would go on and on about a supreme being that watched over all of humanity. He never really named it and certainly never called it a god, considering we weren't taught about religion beyond the fact that it existed, but he kept insisting it was out there. If that's true, I wonder what the hell it thought it was doing, letting my siblings and I go through this. This being is supposed to make sure the universe's bigger picture is taken care of, but if our suffering is part of that bigger picture, maybe we need a new supreme being. Someone that won't let seventy-five children go through a fate worse than Hell.

...I just don't know anymore. If this had to happen, I'd prefer it to be for a reason, but I resent anything that would need us to give up everything. Haven't we suffered enough? We lost our homes, our families, our childhoods, how much more do we have to give up? It is all such a waste...unless it's for a reason. I don't know what that reason could be; I can't even imagine one right now. Still, the thought that this isn't just mindless or random helps in more ways than I'd thought it would. And if that's the case, maybe that supreme being actually knows what it's doing. Maybe this isn't all in vain; maybe it knows better than I do.

Oh, Eric's calling. Got to go.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Better than I _by David Campbell._


	5. Place In This World

Time: 1200\

April 25, 2525\

Reach

One month. I've been out of the Spartan program for one month and I'm no closer to figuring out what to do with my life. It's not like there's a lot of options available to me. I can't go home; that would be an instant red flag to ONI. Considering my entire existence hinges on the UNSC not knowing I'm alive, going home would be a phenomenally bad idea. Likewise, I can't have anything to do with the Spartans, though I'm nearly itching to at least hack into the system and find out who survived. Eric has volunteered to let me into the ODSTs, but that would cause its own set of red flags. As it is, we're still trying to figure out how he can adopt me without gaining ONI's attention.

Cadmon was actually the one to give me an idea. He came for a visit a couple days ago and just about fainted when he saw me. Apparently he'd been one of the ODSTs at the augmentations and had heard I hadn't made it. Took me actually punching him, lightly, to convince him I wasn't a ghost. Then I managed to trip over my own feet and bust a hole in the wall, so that helped too. Which reminds me, I still need to patch that. I swear, this house is turning into one large patch with all the damage I've wrought on it.

Anyway, back to Cadmon. During dinner, he was telling Eric about how excited his little brother, Thomas, was about going to Corbulo Academy of Military Science. There was some mild banter about if the young Lasky would become an ODST as well, but I didn't pay much attention to that part. As much as I hate to admit it, going to a military school had never occurred to me. Now, it's all I can think about.

Let's face it; I'm not going to be much more than a soldier in this life, thanks to all the training and augmentations. I mean, I can't even walk across the house without managing to break something that shouldn't be breakable. Just yesterday I got angry and kicked the wall of the small hangar, which is seven centimeters of solid steel. There is now a nice dent the size of my foot there, which is another thing I need to patch up. My point, though, is I couldn't live a normal life if my life depended on it. At least in the military everything is built to last and won't break quite as easily.

That's not even taking into consideration the fact that I can't think like a civilian at all anymore. I've tried; Eric goes to town every weekend for supplies and gives me all the latest gossip when he comes back. Even when I try to avoid it, I end up categorizing everything he says as 'possible threat', 'possible ally', 'gather intelligence', stuff like that. I can't imagine the place as just a sleepy town on Reach. It's a potential battlefield, and I need to be ready for anything. Thus why Eric doesn't bring me along anymore.

A military academy seems to be the perfect answer. Thanks to all the chemicals that I've been pumped full of, I look old enough to enroll, and it would give me the background needed to make ONI look the other way in disinterest. And it's not like the training would hard. In fact, the hardest part about the entire affair might be holding back, so obviously I can't go just yet. Maybe when I finally master picking up a glass container without shattering it. Still, it's an option and I should probably run it past Eric soon.

Vincent says I'm ignoring the mental damage that I've suffered from losing the other Spartans. I say that I'm prioritizing, and that whining about things I can't change won't help. He's also mentioned 'talking things out' but I think he's overreacting. This isn't anything compared to what I've been trained for; surely I can handle it on my own. Besides, who am I supposed to tell, Eric? He wouldn't understand and I'd just end up frustrating myself. Better to keep moving forward and leave the past behind me.

Although...sometimes, I catch myself staring at the COM unit that Eric has in his office. I start wondering what it would be like to call John, or Fred, and letting them know that I'm okay. It's so clear in my head, I sometimes forget that it's all a fantasy. The few times I've actually reached out to call, Vincent has pulled me back. It's a good thing his mind is clear, even when mine is all jumbled. Still, I can't help but wonder...

...I better go fix that wall.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Place in this world _by Michael W. Smith._


	6. Already Over

Time: 2200\

May 03, 2525\

Reach

I had another check-up today. Really, its a miracle that Eric was able to find a doctor that was willing to keep my secrets. Something about being disgusted with ONI policies, although I'm not too sure about the exact phrasing. I've only met the guy twice after all. Still, he stopped by today to do some more tests, trying to form a baseline that can be used throughout my life.

I wish he'd had better news. He says my body is still trying to recover from the augmentations, though I could have told him that simply based on how much everything aches. However, he also went into detail about what, exactly, had been done to me. We already knew some things, like the increased muscle mass and the ceramic reinforced skeleton, but other details were a surprise. Unpleasant surprises. Like my DNA no longer being recognized as human by his scanners.

I can't get away from you, can I? No matter where I go or what I do, you're there like a damn cancer underneath my skin. When will you be happy?! The only way to protect myself from you and others like you was to run away, but that cost me everything! I have nothing left to lose! You've taken everything I ever had, everything I ever wanted. Because of you, I can't go home. Because of you, I can't be with my siblings. Because of you, I have to live a life of secrecy and lies.

Is this what you wanted from us? A group of soldiers that are so completely devoted to you that you can put them through the closest example of Hell they'll ever know while alive, and they still won't turn on you? Did you ever care about us, or only what we could do for you? Cause I can't believe that someone that cared would put us through these augmentations, transforming us in such a way that it's honestly debatable whether we are even human anymore.

I can't get them out of my mind. The twenty-nine other coffins. Did you cry for any of them? I know John wasn't among them, Eric assured me of that, but I don't know the others. They died for you and your damn dreams; dreams they didn't even share, dreams that were forced upon them by you. And I'll bet you didn't mourn them. I will bet you anything you want that you just accepted their deaths as unavoidable and moved on.

But it _was_ avoidable! It's all your fault! Are you capable of understanding that?! Can you comprehend the fact that it is because of _you_ that they are dead?! That it is because of _you_ that they lost any chance of being normal or living peaceful lives?! That it is because of _you_ that I am in pain every day?! That it is because of _you_ that everyone I love must believe that I am dead because if they don't, I will be killed?!

I feel like I'm just a giant volcano of rage; the pressure keeps building up and I know I'm going to explode, but can't even begin to fathom what I will destroy. Preferably you, but that's doubtful. The UNSC tends to frown on murdering ONI scientists. Still, all this anger is stifled inside and I want to scream and lash out but I can't, because of what _you_ did to me!

As I sat on the bed, listening to the doctor explain everything my body was put through, I couldn't help but think about what my life would have been like if I hadn't told you how the damn coin would land. I'd still be in school, complaining about the homework and how boring my teachers were. I'd have a small group of close friends that would be wonderfully quirky and sarcastic, making life into one big comedy show. My parents would be lecturing me about grades while Lillian bragged about her straight A's. Maybe I'd have finally convinced my parents to let grandmother take me to Earth for a visit. She always talked about this cabin by the lake that she'd take me to and we'd stay up all night, roasting marshmallows and watching the stars spin by. I'd probably confess to her that suddenly, boys weren't completely disgusting, just mostly so, and then I'd swear her to secrecy because dad would flip if he knew I was even considering being nice to the male species.

I wouldn't know what it was like to be shot. I wouldn't know what it's like to go a week with no food and little sleep. I wouldn't know that peculiar noise that occurs when a person's neck is snapped. I wouldn't know what it was like to realize I could die any second. I wouldn't know what it's like to look down at my hands and see them covered in blood. And it's all because of you, Halsey.

I hadn't even begun to live, and it's already over.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on_ _is_ Already Over _by Red._


	7. My December

Time: 0600\

May 20, 2525\

Reach

ONI decided they needed to meet with Eric, and for some reason they absolutely had to meet at his house, so after patching everything up super fast, I was sent to the ice poles with Cadmon as a babysitter. Well, okay, not exactly to the poles. Doesn't mean it's not freakishly cold. Cadmon actually built a little nest in his room of blankets and heaters and he refuses to leave except to go to the bathroom.

I, on the other hand, am thriving. The cold seems to be helping my body deal with the remnants of the augmentations; my muscles haven't seized up since we came here. It also helps that I don't seem to feel the cold anymore, unless I'm exposed for long periods of time. Probably another alteration they made off the books. I'm starting to think that the scientists were given free range to do any extra experiment they wanted with us.

The cabin we're staying in is in the middle of the woods, and it's a lot of fun to go walking around the property, especially at night. Most of the wildlife is gone, except for the occasional wolf or bear. They tend to leave me alone; the one that thought I might taste good got it's skull crushed on accident. Anyway, the point is that I like to be in the woods because I feel safe there. It's just me, the trees, and the snow.

Unfortunately, it also gives me plenty of time to remember, and that is something I'm trying to avoid. Eric says that every day I refuse to give into temptation, I get stronger. He neglected to say that the temptation grows too. I think even Cadmon is aware that I don't sleep anymore. Every moment is focused on the Spartans, and how much I hate myself for leaving them. It's useless and annoying and apparently unstoppable. When I have work to do inside the house, I'm usually able to at least pretend to focus on something else, but as soon as I have free time, the thoughts rush back in.

Where are you now? How many survived? How much have you changed? Do you miss me? Again and again in endless circles, it's all I can think of. Sometimes I think it would be worth it to expose myself just to get some answers. Honestly, the only thing holding me back now is the knowledge that Eric and Cadmon will also be punished if anyone discovers the truth. After everything they've done for me, everything they've given up, I can't repay them that way. For crying out loud, Cadmon is supposed to be spending this shore leave with his brother, not watching over me.

They both tell me they don't regret anything. That they'd do it all again if given the chance. I'm not sure I believe them. It's such a strange idea, being willing to sacrifice so much for someone they barely know. I mean, I know I'd give up everything for one of you, and you all would do the same for me. But what am I to Eric and Cadmon? I commanded them once and went on a couple missions with them, but is that enough? It sounds wrong to admit to, but if our roles had been reversed, I'm not sure I would have done as much for them. Certainly not at the expense of my family members.

But again and again I'm reminded that I'm not like them. I don't think like they do, act like they do, I don't even _feel_ like they do. Reluctantly, I have to admit to what the doctor told me. I'm not human. I can pretend really well; I can play the part, but it's not me anymore.

The difference is that I _have_ to pretend if I want to survive. You guys don't, and I envy you so much for that. All of you can be yourselves while I get to be a shadow. I can't decide if I resent you for that or not.

When I came home the other day, Cadmon said I looked like a snow sprite. My skin was pale and blue tinted, my hair was frosted, and my eyes were nearly white. I'm sure he said it as a joke, but as we laughed, we realized how true it was, and the mirth faded away. It's scary, sometimes, to think about how different I am.

...okay, I just reread this entire thing and can't believe how whiny I'm getting. I'm alive; isn't that enough? I survived things that no one else has and I'm capable of doing so much in my life. This...weakness isn't me. Vincent keeps insisting that something is wrong, something he can't fix or account for, but I don't care. Whatever it is, I'll deal with it later. For now, I just want to sleep and forget that I ever played that damn coin game.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ My December _by Linkin Park._


	8. Lest We Forget

Time: 1730\

June 21, 2525\

Reach

'Don't blame the Devil for the evils of men.' That's something that Instructor Grant always told us. 'There is nothing worse than a person that cannot take responsibility for their own actions, choosing instead to blame a separate entity.' His words have been echoing in my head today, ever since the UNSC broadcast about the latest strike against the Insurrectionists. The ONI spokesman said, "We do not take the actions we have because we want to. Rather, everything we have done and will do in the future, is to protect the future that our children will inherit."

Pretty words, and a pretty sentiment. But do those words actually mean anything? Seventy-five children, stolen from their homes and families, turned into glorified weapons, and used to fight and kill adults. Is that protecting the future of the children? What children? Those not yet born, or maybe all children other than the seventy-five? What then of those seventy-five? How were the actions taken supposed to help or protect them?

When I was home, the war was something they mentioned on the news before my parents ushered me out of the room. It was something my grandmother worked long hours trying to stop. It was something that called away many of the young men from our town and they never came back. After being taken, it was my future, plain and simple. The thing is, no matter where I was, I didn't really understand what the war was. Something to avoid or a duty to fulfill, but there was no knowledge, no comprehension about what it meant or the reasons for it's existence.

Now, stranded in the middle of Reach, I'm still not sure I understand, but I feel like I'm making headway. Though I can't say which side I believe is in the right, I have noticed a pattern between the UNSC and the Insurrectionists. Both sides blame their actions on what the opposing side does. 'We bombed that space station because you attacked our ship.' 'We attacked that ship because you blew up that building.' Back and forth, with no ending.

It's so pointless. All this fighting, all this killing, and they can't even take responsibility for their actions. Everything is the other group's fault, so it doesn't matter how horrendous it is. We're blameless because we're only reacting to what you did. Meanwhile, the streets run red with blood, from both soldiers and civilians. Killing begets killing, death begets death, hatred begets hatred, and still they don't stop! They're both so stubborn and prideful and infuriating!

Eric told me, today, about some ODSTs that got attacked when they were on shore leave. They weren't attacked by Insurrectionists, but by civilians. Apparently there had been a protest against the war and, upon seeing the soldiers, the crowd turned on them and attacked, chanting 'Death to the murderers!' Foregoing the comment on the irony, I can't help but feel that this event sums up this entire conflict. Everyone is angry, everyone is hurting, so we lash out at those we can see, even though those people usually aren't the ones in charge. Soldiers do as they are ordered, no matter how much they might despise those orders. Attacking them doesn't effect the war in any way. In fact, I believe it is safe to say that no one civilian wants the war to end more than a soldier does.

There is one thing that is different now, though, from when I was a child and when I was a Spartan. I can choose what I do with what I learn. I'm not just a weapon and I'm not just a civilian. I can make a difference, an impact on what is happening around me. It won't be easy, but nothing in my life has been so far, so that's to be expected. Actually, I'd probably die from shock if something turned out easy. Until then, I'll just keep my head low and charge ahead. It's worked so far.

And every step of the way, I'll remember what Grant told us. We are responsible for what we do, and no one else is. If we can't take that responsibility, we shouldn't take the action. So while I doubt I'll ever meet Grant again, I'll try to live a life that he would approve of. One where I never feel like I have to blame someone else for what I do. A life where the Devil is not given credit for what is under my power and control. Because when I die, it is not the Devil that shall be judged. When history looks back at the conflict, the UNSC will not be judged for what the Insurrectionists did, nor the other way around. No matter what we say when alive, history will look at us through a single lens.

The judgement is on us. Not our neighbors, not our enemies. Us.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Lest We Forget _by The Brothers Bright._


	9. Hurricane

Time: 0015\

June 30, 2525\

Reach

It's kinda funny, when I think back on everything. I was in that hot water from the moment of my birth, and I never noticed until someone pulled me out.

Well, maybe I should back up a bit. In training, Deja had told us about 'Frog Soup'. Contrary to the name, it's not a recipe for anything edible, so far as I'm aware. It was an example of how people don't notice danger that grows around them slowly. According to Deja, if you put a frog in room temperature water and slowly heat it, the amphibian will just sit there and eventually boil to death. This is opposed to if you put a frog in hot water, where it automatically jumps out because it can tell it's in danger. Human minds are the same, that's why the military is constantly shifting soldiers around. If there's danger, a new soldier will notice before an older one, because the danger grew with the older soldier.

In my case, the danger is ONI. My grandmother is an ONI officer, so I was around agents since before I could walk. They were just a fact of life for me. Then the Spartans happen, and suddenly ONI isn't the people that come visit with my grandmother and play ball with me. They're faceless monsters that always demand more and are never satisfied. Makes sense, in a warped way, that it was also an ONI that ordered my death.

My mother told Lillian and me about these storms on ancient Earth called hurricanes. They were massive storm systems over oceans that could kill thousands of people. A hurricane was all wind and water, but lethal amounts of both. She also said that people always knew when a hurricane was coming, because they didn't come quietly.

Despite that, I usually imagine that ONI is the human version of a hurricane, though they are infinitely quieter than a real storm. They are, however, big and powerful and no one can stop them, which isn't always a good thought when you're being hunted by them. And yes, I am fully aware that it is a stupid comparison to make, but give me a break, I actually managed to crack my skull yesterday because I overestimated how durable the scientists had made me. They should have warned us that our reinforced skeletons are still not bulletproof. Bullet resistance, yes, but proof, no.

My point, and yes, I have a point, is that ONI is like a horrible storm that can destroy everything, but just like ancient humans learned how to survive hurricanes, we have learned to survive ONI. Even though they are so powerful and so dangerous, they are also a part of daily life, whether we think they are or not. Sure, not everyone grew up playing ball with agents that were visiting the house, but decisions made by ONI affect everyone. The _war_ may not have been started by ONI, but anyone that tells me they weren't involved is lying.

But more than that, ONI gets into the minds of everyone in the UNSC. Spartan training was hard, yes, and it killed any chance of us being children, but it was ONI that killed our humanity. One day an agent came to check on our progress, and he was not impressed. He'd pulled Lisa, one of the youngest, to the side and gave her a gun before pointing at one of the nearby adult soldiers and ordering her to kill him. She refused, but what did he honestly expect?! She was nine! Still, he gave the order again, and she refused a second time. That's when he slapped her.

Truth be told, I'm not sure how I got from the side of the training field to them, and I don't care. All I was concerned with was his blood on my knuckles and him getting back to his feet with a split lip. Mendez was going to blow a gasket, we could all tell, but the agent waved him off, nodding to me instead. "Very good," he'd said. "Now we know how to get you to attack. So tell me, what would it take to make you kill? To save a life? To prove you're right? Would those make you kill?" I didn't answer him then, and I'm afraid to answer him now. Still, the question won't leave. What would it take to make me kill? I've done it before to protect, but is that the only time I'll kill, or will I learn to do it on orders? Will I become so cold and so detached that I will someday be able to look into a child's eyes and ask them what it would take to get them to kill? Will the hurricane destroy me like it has so many others?

Actually, thinking back on everything, it's not very funny at all, is it?

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Hurricane _by 30 Seconds to Mars._


	10. So Far Away

Time:1455\

July 07, 2525\

Reach

They were talking about the first Spartan mission today on the news. Not that they actually said it was Spartans, true, but it was obvious to anyone that knew what to look for. An attack like that, so seamless and perfect and quiet, cannot be completed by a normal group of soldiers. It's not physically possible, which is the entire reason the Spartans exist.

Eric has mentioned Colonel Watts around the house, usually preceded and followed by three or four curse words. He's been a thorn in the UNSC's side for decades. No one really knew where he was or how to find him, let alone how to capture him. Then, without warning, he's caught and deposited to the UNSC alive and virtually unharmed. Everyone is whispering about some UNSC elite unit, but they are so far off target I can only laugh.

I was still happy to hear about the mission, though it made my heart ache to think about how I can't be with you. It's good to know that you're still soldiers. That might sound stupid, but sometimes I look at how much I've changed in the last few months and I can't help but wonder if you've changed too. If we were to meet and not be able to see each other's faces, would would recognize me? I mean, I could recognize you easily since they shortest among you is six feet tall, but would you know it's me? Sometimes, I'm not sure I recognize myself, so how could I expect you to?

But every time I pick up a whisper about you guys, I feel like I'm so far away. It's a strange sensation, especially knowing that our base is less than three hours away by Warthog. Though Eric has told me that the base is scheduled for demolition soon, so I guess you were all moved. Still, where else would you be than Reach? No other planet has enough of a military presence for you to hide in plain sight. And I don't think the UNSC values you enough to give you your own ship.

Back to the point of this whine fest, because I have a feeling that's what this is going to turn into, I keep waiting for the day that this becomes easier. Surely the day will come when I get up in the morning and my chest doesn't feel like it's going to collapse in on itself because of how much I miss you. The day will come when I stop and realize that I haven't thought of you for a while. Sadly, that day has not come. I feel like I'm drowning, and no one is around to pull me out of the water. My only options are to learn how to swim or give up, but I can't do either. All I can manage is to tread water and keep my head above the waves.

Part of my heart is gone, left with all of you. The romantics would say this was good, but I hate it. Living a half-life was never on my list of things I wanted to do. Part of me want to demand that you give me back what you took, but the other part can't bear the thought. It's like a never ending see-saw, wanting nothing to do with you and cherishing every second we had. Some times all I can do is escape into the woods and scream. Other than scaring Eric, though, it doesn't help much.

My heart aches with broken promises. I can remember all those nights with Serin, going over stolen data packages. Running with Kelly and joking about the epic races we'd organized. Wrestling with Fred because he'd taken the last piece of lasagna. Cleaning weapons with Cal and discussing what planets we didn't want to be stationed on. I had a future then, and no matter how bleak the UNSC painted it, I was excited. With all of you by my side, I thought I could do anything. But now...well, you know where I am now. At least, you would if you actually read this. Sometimes I think I'm like those orphans in the old stories Deja would show us. I'm outside in the cold, looking through the window and watching the happy family inside. But now the window is fogged up and I don't even know if you're still there. I wish...but I shouldn't...

Alright, since no one will ever read this.

I wish I had never met any of you. I wish I hadn't played Halsey's stupid game. I wish I was still home, living a normal life, even if that means that Lillian was taken instead. It's not being a Spartan that I hate. It's not even the blood on my hands. It's knowing you, loving you, caring about you, and knowing all of our lives depend on my never being with you again. No human could live with that pain, which is just further proof that I am not human anymore.I'm reaching, but you're just so far away. I just...wish.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ So Far Away _by Red._


	11. OneRepublic

Time: 1905\

July 31, 2525\

Reach

Well, today's the day. I can now juggle eggs without breaking any, so it's time to decide what I'm going to do with my life. Besides, Eric is out of leave, so he needs to get back into space, especially with all these rumors of a new enemy. He can't leave me here, so I can't put this moment off any longer. It's not like I have a plethora of options anyway, but I want to make sure that I take everything into consideration. When I look back on this moment, I never want to think that I was reckless or made a brash decision.

I could go home. Yes, it would be suicide, but I could do it. The idea has been very tempting in the last couple months, as I've had more time to think about home than I've had in the last few years. I can almost remember what mom's apple pie smelled like. My dad's voice has also come back to me, though it still echoes with Mendez's. Sometimes when I'm bored, I sketch out our old house and try to redesign it so that it's more secure. So yes, I'm not the person I would have been if I'd never been taken, and that's one of the main reasons I won't go back. The other being the obvious security risk. Still, it's a nice dream.

I could join the ODSTs. A worthy goal, and one I'll probably get around to, but it's more of a long term plan. Going now would set off ONI red flags, and grandmother will catch it in time. Rather morbid to think of this entire affair as a big game of hide-and-seek with her, but anything to keep sane, right? So ODST will come in later.

I could surrender to ONI. Don't look at me like that, future me, it's an option. Granted, it is an option that will get me a bullet between the eyes, but that doesn't invalidate the fact that it is an option. Besides, maybe if I talk fast enough, I can explain what happened and not get killed. Grandmother always said that a soldier's main priority was to complete the mission, and the last mission given to me was to survive...and now I'm wondering who I'm trying to convince, her or me. Guess that means I can cross surrender off my list.

I could vanish. The colonies are big enough and spread apart. It wouldn't be that hard to jump onto a freighter and disappear into space. A tempting thought, but what would I do with myself? For some reason I can't imagine myself settling down into civilian life. I'd go mad within the week. The mere idea is enough to make me shudder.

I could join the Insurrection. Again, another tempting idea, and I scare myself just admitting it. Sure, there's no love lost between the UNSC and myself, but could I really turn against everything I've been taught? Somedays I think I can, and others I think I'm insane for considering it. Besides, could I really stand on the opposite side of a battlefield from my siblings? I don't think I could. And that reason alone is why I reject this option, but shouldn't there be more reasons?

I could go to a military academy, like Corbulo. This seems to be the best option, as it doesn't lock me into anything. The military environment will help me hide, as well as allowing me to learn anything our trainers might have missed. When I graduate I will have the option of going into the military, and eventually becoming an ODST, or return to civilian life and make something of myself. Even if I choose to be a civilian though, I won't be able to go home. ONI will never stop watching my family, making sure that their horrible secret is kept. So, really, would there be any reason to leave the military?

You know, once everything is laid out on paper, my choice becomes pretty obvious, doesn't it? If I want to avoid death and exile, I have to go to school. There are worse things in life, I know, but I can't say I'm happy about this. Being surrounded by people every second of every day isn't exactly my idea of a good time. Not to mention I'll probably be bored out of my ever loving skull 99% of the time. But beggars can't be choosers, so I'll inform Eric of my decision tonight during dinner. Maybe Cadmon can help me get ready, since his brother is going into Corbulo as well. He'll probably tease me about it, too. Brat.

Oh well. Maybe living at the academy won't be so bad after all, right? Besides, now I'll be able to understand what all of you are going through too. Until next time!

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ One Republic Medley _by The Royal Sons._


	12. Lost It All

Time: 2200\

August 12, 2525\

Circinius IV, Corbulo Academy

Alright, let's try this out. Vincent made some adjustments to my journal so that I could make entries using a neural implant. This allows me to keep everything up to date, even when I can't physically carry my journal with me. All I need is a quiet moment to think.

I have a feeling I'm going to get a lot of that here. Corbulo classes don't start for another week, but I got permission to move in early because Eric had to deploy. General Black plans to use the time to test me, as he's been informed that I've had 'basic amounts of training' for a couple years now. Apparently I am Eric's adopted/illegitimate daughter and needed to learn how to defend myself. Don't ask my how Eric came up with that story; I don't know and I don't care. It's already saved me once when I forgot moderation on the rifle range.

Since classes haven't started, I'm alone in the dorms. Colonel Mehaffey has checked on me a few times, but I'm otherwise left alone. Can't say I'm complaining. I knew coming here was going to be an emotionally draining experience, but I hadn't expected the influx of feelings to begin before the mass of students arrived. And I anticipated nerves or worry, but instead I find myself angry. The faculty told me about the tests I would taking, and I could feel a growl building in my chest. They treat me like a child, and I hate it! Even knowing that I need them to see me this way doesn't help.

I am a Spartan! I can do things these humans can't even begin to comprehend! Tasks they consider impossible is child's play to me. They look down their noses, but if they knew who I was they would tremble in fear. Sometimes the only way I can get through a conversation with them is to list all the different ways I could kill them, ranking each method in terms of speed and mess. If this is how my entire stay is going to be, I should seriously reconsider this option. Becoming a homicidal maniac is near the top of my list of 'Things I shouldn't become'. Right under 'Becoming an ONI agent'.

Deja had told us stories of soldiers that couldn't cope when they left the military and became civilians again. The things they'd experienced made them so different from everyone around them, and they couldn't understand the people the had to interact with every day. But sometimes there was a specific reason the soldier didn't mesh with others. We watched some interviews of soldiers that got angry because they had the power to kill everyone around them and no one knew. These soldiers were not mentally disturbed; it's human nature to feel this way. When you have power over anything, you want it acknowledged. Even if you're the nicest, most well balanced person in existence, not getting the recognition can drive you mad. No one knows why, but it is seen throughout history.

That's how I feel. I'm like a king amongst peasants, and none of them recognize me. With a single word I could bring their entire world crumbling down, but their ignorance means they treat me like dirt. So now it's a battle between my pride and my control, and I can't say which will win.

Is this how my siblings feel? Watching the humans shuffle around them, so slow and weak, do they sometimes wonder what would happen if they didn't hold back. If they showed these ignorant creatures just what they were actually capable of? If wasn't an issue during training; our instructors were very aware of what we could do, and they respected it. Now...

...okay, I have read this entry and think we need to make some adjustments to this implant. Preferably something that will filter out my more inane musings. It should be noted, just in case anyone else ever reads this, that I have no intention of doing these things I wonder about. There will be no rampage started by myself simply because these people don't realize what I am. After all, as I keep reminding myself, I am no longer a Spartan. My file has no doubt been blacked out and all records erased. So what right do I have to claim the title of Spartan?

Truth be told, I've been struggling with this thought for a while. Can I really call myself a Spartan? I left the program, I turned my back on my siblings, and I'm a fugitive. Is surviving the augmentations enough to call myself one of them? Sometimes I don't think so.

Alright Vincent, turn it off. No, don't write, turn off. Vincent! Turn. It. Off. Stop writing what I'm telling you! Vincent! You bloody, digital, bastard, stop it! What do you mean you can't turn it off?! Oh for chocolate's sake, give me the journal!

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Lost it all _by Black Veil Brides._


	13. John: Already Home

25250911

Excerpt from Sierra 117's Personal Journal:

I don't remember much about my mother. Her smile...the red ribbon she always wore in her hair...the way her dress would glow as she spun in the fields under the autumn sun...those little wrinkles in the corner of her eyes. It's just little flashes, really. Bits and pieces that aren't enough to make a whole anymore. But more than anything, I remember her voice. I remember how she would sing to me at night and the gentle laugh when she thought I was being cute. Yes...if nothing else follows me, it's the sound of her voice. And one thing she told me more than anything else is that love is what you put into it. I didn't understand it back then, and I'm not sure I understand now.

But I'm starting to.

You were always something special. A beam of light in the darkness; a laugh in times of grief; hope when everyone is telling me to give up all hope. I wonder if you ever knew that. I wonder if I ever told you. Probably not. I never tell you the important things.

From the first moment I saw you, I wanted to be the most important person in your life, because you smiled when no one else would even look. You would explain when classes got confusing, and you were always willing to come in last if it meant getting everyone else across the line. Even in your fury and in the middle of the grudge, you never stopped looking out for us. But the moment I started to fall in love is when you came back from that solo mission and let me hug you. Of all of us, you were the strongest, no matter what the instructors said. You could survive on your own; you had a strength that none of us could hope to emulate. And yet you were still willing to give me a moment to support you. A bare second to be the one to keep you on your feet. That...that meant more than anything else anyone has ever done for me.

I'd always thought that love would be fast and fiery and terrifying. Maybe for others it is...but not with you. My love for you grew slowly, creeping into the corners of my life and rooting itself deep. It wasn't a fire of passion, but the gentle warmth that fills your chest when you come home after a long journey. And there was never a moment of terror in the love itself, though the same cannot be said about the realization. No...loving you was the comfort of an old and heavy blanket on a snowy evening. It was the sun on my face with the scent of spring and life heady in my nose. It was the glory of a flower you never saw grow but was suddenly blooming, bringing a special kind of joy into your life when you weren't even aware that you were missing it. That's what loving you is.

Losing you is everything that I thought love would be.

It's fast; the sudden knowledge that the one person I cannot live without is gone and there is nothing I can do to protect them or save them. It's the second when I can't breathe and my knees are throbbing because I've fallen to my knees.

It's fiery; the agony of my heart trying to tear itself out of my chest because there's no reason for it to keep beating when you're gone. It's the screams that are being ripped from my throat to the point that I can feel the blood rushing down.

It's terrifying; the realization that I am helpless to do anything but wether this storm. It's the moment when everything crashes together and I'm facing a future that we could have conquered, but I'm alone.

I didn't cry when we shot your casket into space. Actually, I didn't cry until we'd returned to Reach and I could be alone. But the tears didn't help. The screaming, the punching walls, the surrender to absolute agony did nothing to alleviate the pain and loneliness that is suffocating my heart. Mendez gave me this journal in an attempt to help me bleed off the emotions, but I'm not sure I can. I must have started this entry a thousand times, and the wound still feels so raw and infected. All this is doing is ripping open the scabs and making them bleed again. There's a part of me that feels I deserve the pain, but...You wouldn't like me saying that, would you? You never did like people hurting themselves. It's been six months, and it hurts as much today as it did the day Mendez told me what had happened. You were my light, my laughter, my hope. And now you're gone.

Where are you, Klare? Please don't leave me. Please.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Already Home _by A Great Big World._


	14. Missing

Time: 2100\

August 22, 2525\

Circinius IV, Corbulo Academy

Classes have started, and I'm already wishing they were over. Somehow, it didn't occur to me that a school was going to be filled with young people. It's so weird! And yes, I realize that I am easily the youngest person in the academy, though no one else know that. Still, they act like children. I'm just...not used to this. For crying out loud, I've heard students complaining about guard duty. Guard duty! One of the easiest duties they'll ever have, and they complain about it! If an instructor hadn't been there, I'd have punched that cadet in the face.

Right, let's focus on something else. The testing went well. I managed to hold back enough to impress everyone without giving away the fact that my skill is unnatural. The decision was made to bump me up to senior standing, though not all of the officers are happy about that. Eric's not sure what to think about it either. He's happy to hear I'm thriving, but he's worried that I'm isolating myself. Personally, I think he is overreacting. I know he cares, but I haven't need a father for years. Besides, I was isolated with the Spartans too, and that clearly didn't hurt me...contrary to what Vincent keeps telling me.

That being said, the situation isn't exactly ideal. Most of the senior cadets are upset that I've joined their ranks and only get madder when they find I'm actually better than them. There are a couple that just don't care, but the rest try to make my life miserable. Their methods might work, too, if they weren't so pitiful. It took them a _week_ to realize that I was actually enjoying the silent treatment. If this is the future of the UNSC, I'm a little concerned.

So far, the most interesting thing to occur is meeting Thomas Lasky. Well, meeting is the wrong word. I saw him on the training field and watched his session, as I had already tested out of that particular lesson. He's a lot like his brother, though I think Cadmon would disagree. It's not so much that they look similar, but they act virtually the same; Thomas just happens to be a bit more stubborn. Sort of reminds me of myself and Linda, but that's neither here nor there. Point is, the little Lasky has taken the Academy by storm. He's in Histati Squad, and there's already talk that he's going to be made Team Leader. Not bad for an eighteen year old.

Other than Lasky, the only thing to catch my attention is the whispers of the Spartans. Granted, no one knows it's them and they certainly don't use that name, but it's all anyone is talking about. The super secret UNSC strike team that's been taking out Insurrectionist targets. Most of the school thinks it's a specialized ODST unit, while others think it's something darker. Hard to believe the conspiracy theorists are actually right for once.

Come to think of it, I think the Spartans are a major reason of why I don't feel comfortable here. Everything I am is screaming that I should be with my siblings, but I'm here. They're out in the war, getting shot at, and I'm sitting in an Academy classroom, listening to a lesson that Deja taught us when we were seven. It's maddening. But it's also my life, so I guess I just need to go with it...right?

Sometimes...not often, but sometimes...I wonder if you even remember me. Am I just a face in your memories, am I more, am I less? Do you miss me? Do I want you to? My heart screams yes, but my mind says no, strangely enough. Mendez always told us that attachments were dangerous. If you worry about someone too much, you aren't paying attention to what is around you. It's happened to me a couple times. The other day I was so wrapped up in wondering where you were, I nearly got run over by a Warthog. How much worse would it be for you guys, out on a battlefield?

And why the hell do I keep writing questions that will never be answered?! There must be at least one in every damn entry! I'm supposed to be moving on with my life, not obsessing over what can't be. I can't keep lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering where everyone is. That doesn't help you, and it doesn't help me. I need to let you go; I need to turn my back on that part of my life because it's not in my future and I can't go back. It's not something I want to do, but what other choice do I have? It's this or madness. I'm not Klare, I'm not Spartan 113, I'm not James and Fred's teammate, I'm not John's wife. I can't be.

I can't be a Spartan anymore.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Missing _by Evanescence._


	15. I Heard the Bells

Time: 2200\

December 25, 2525\

Circinius IV, Corbulo Academy

It's Christmas, or more specifically, Christmas Eve. Sorta forgot this holiday existed, if I'm honest. We never celebrated it on the base. Here, though, it is apparently a big deal. Classes have been cancelled all week, cadets are going home or family is coming here, there are several decorated trees strewn across campus, and I saw General Black dressed up like Santa and Colonel Mehaffey as an elf the other day. There are also lights and garlands and Secret Santa groups and I'm honestly losing my mind. Spartans were trained to withstand anything, but this is ridiculous. I can look death in the eye and smile but I'm running away from decorations. Eric just about busted a gut laughing when I told him that the other day. He'd called to apologize for not being able to come see me during the holiday and proceeded to laugh himself sick at the miniature fortress I'd constructed in my room. Not for the first time, I'm glad I got a single room and don't have to worry about a roommate.

Cadmon came to visit me this morning too. He'd stopped in the see Thomas, but made time to search me out. And yes, he was also amused by my anti-Christmas precautions. "Who doesn't like Christmas?" he'd laughed, handing me a bag of presents from himself and Eric. However, that smile disappeared when I tossed the bag on the empty bunk and he realized I was serious from my scowl.

"Christmas is a pointless holiday," I told him. "It advertises giving and promotes greed, children are taught that their actions only matter for that short month, and is based off a religion that that has been debated since it's conception. My parents were always talking about how Christmas was supposed to be 'Peace on Earth and goodwill towards men'. From what I've seen, it fails miserably. What is the point of having peace if it only lasts for a week a year?" He didn't have any answers, and left soon after.

Throughout the rest of the day, the cadets and faculty I'm not in an antagonistic relationship with stopped by to wish me a merry Christmas. I had enough common decency to return the saying, but each one quickly realized that I didn't much care for the tradition and left me alone. The most awkward moment is when Black and Mehaffey, in full costume, stopped by to pick up the presents I had for other members of the Academy. It's tradition to have the Academy commander gather up all the presents Christmas Eve and then hand them out the next day, but having the two officers at my door in costumes was a little too weird for me. Doesn't help that they didn't look exactly comfortable.

After they left, I decided that my room was too stifling and slipped out of the barracks. It had been snowing the last couple days and was frigidly cold, so no one was out as I made my way to the motor pool and climbed on top of the biggest vehicle I could find. Only took a moment to clear off a section so I could lay down, and then everything went silent. There's nothing like a snowy night; my grandmother called it 'Nature Magic'. The snow is like insulation and muffles all other noises, letting you float in a bubble, completely alone and safe. My favorite nights were when the snow was blowing in from somewhere and therefore falling, but the sky directly above was clear. In my opinion, the best starry nights are snowy.

The caroling started a few minutes ago, the voices drifting to my little bubble on the wind. Soldiers aren't exactly the best singers in the world, but I can't honestly say that it bothers me. In fact, the singing enhances the peace, rather than shatter it as I'd feared it would. If Christmas was like this, quiet and gentle, I wouldn't mind it so much. Because this is what we wanted...what the Spartans wanted every year. Not presents. Not boisterous dinners and aggravating games. Just a quiet time of reflection, where we can rest. I think that's what this holiday was supposed to be, though I could be wrong. A time of love, not of presents. Of quiet, not of celebrations. Of peace, not of traditions. Of rest, not of expectations.

And judging from the voices I can hear just outside the motor pool, the Lasky boys agree.

P.S. Just came back to my room to find a life size cut out of a character called The Grinch on my door and a note that said, 'Every Christmas needs a Grinch.' My room has also been redecorated and named 'Whoville' on the official Academy map. This is my official note to remember to throw a ton of snowballs at Cadmon today during the annual snowball war.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ I Heard the Bells _by Jars of Clay._


	16. Still Here

Time: Unknown\

Unknown\

Unknown

I'm not...really sure what I'm doing. Heh, I don't even know if I'm doing what I think I'm doing. The doctor...he said something about an infection. In my – in my head. That blow on the training field is what triggered it. At least, that's what he said, or what I think he said. I'm not sure anymore. Sometimes I see people, or hear them, only to later learn they weren't here. It's odd.

The voice in my head, he keeps telling me that something is...is...wrong? Yeah, that's the word. He won't say what is wrong, though. I mean, I've asked and he won't answer. Maybe I haven't asked, actually. How do I talk to a voice in my head? Isn't that a sign of insanity? But I'm not insane. She would have known if I was.

This room is strange. I mean, it's stone, right? But sometimes it's not. The walls, they move and warp, turn to liquid before freezing. This...thing...it walked through the wall once. I don't know what it was. Tall. Scales. Armor. It was dangerous. I've never seen it before, but everything I am tells me I need to run. Then it vanished. The doctor calls what I see hallucinations. How do I know he's not one too?

I can't...I can't think straight. I know that I knew what was real once. Now...I'm not so sure. Is this all real? Is none of it?

I heard a new voice. It's...familiar. A man. He spoke to the doctor for a while before sitting with me, but I couldn't...can't look at him. His face keeps changing. He tells me I'm going to be okay. Didn't the doctor say things weren't looking good? Something about a fever...fever...that's heat, right? My body is too hot. That's a fever. Those are bad. I remember that. At least, I think I do. Someone said that once. A woman. I don't like her.

I'm cold. How can I be cold with a fever? Fevers are...are...I can't remember now. I knew though...right? I'm not sure.

The voice is back. He's telling me to wake up. But I'm awake. I can see, so my eyes must be open. Sleep means eyes are closed and you can only wake up if you were asleep. Maybe I'm...what is the word? Seeming? Creaming? No, dreaming. That's it. Maybe I'm dreaming. Except, I don't dream. At least, I don't remember dreaming. They're always...darker. Those aren't called dreams. I don't want to remember what they're called.

But maybe I am. Dreaming, that is. Everything keeps changing, and that's what happens when people dream. I remember that. Or – maybe I just know that. What is the difference between remembering and knowing? That man said there was. Who was he? I can't...remember...I don't know... Chief? Was that it? No, that's not his name. But it...fits...

It hurts. Everything hurts. My head – it's going to split open. It feels that way, anyway. That can't...actually happen. But it still hurts. Everything hurts. Wait, I thought that already. I don't – don't want to be here anymore. Please, let me go. There's somewhere – I can almost see it. It's dark and grey. A room. A prison. But there are people there. They care for me. They wouldn't let me hurt. I can't...remember...them, but I know it. It's in my bones. I can't see them, but I – I know.

What is real? The small room? The doctor? The voice in my head? The prison? The people? I don't – I don't know. What is going on? Who am I? What happened? An infection. Someone said that. Who said that? What is an infection? I don't know. I don't know. Maybe...maybe I never knew.

They're yelling. The voices. They're scared. Why are they scared? The pain is gone. Is that why? Is that why they are scared? They're so far away. That's...good? Wait, who are...you?

John. What are you doing here? Wait...I remember...your name? Why? I can't remember my own name. I thought...well, it doesn't matter. I'm glad you're here. I've missed you. There's so much I want to tell you and...wait, don't turn away. John! John, come back. No, let me go, I have to get to John. Let me go! Shut up, all of you shut up, John! John...

...

...I'm not...really sure what I'm doing. Heh, I don't even know if I'm doing what I think I'm doing. But I do know I lost something. And I can never get it back.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Still Here _by Digital Daggers._


	17. You're Not Me

Time: 1530\

January 30, 2526\

Circinius IV, Corbulo Academy

One more, I swear, one more person asks me if I'm okay and I'm going to blow this place to Pi Ceti Alpha! I'm so sick of it! Just because one jealous idiot decides it's a good idea to shoot me in the head during an exercise, now everyone thinks I need to be coddled. And yes, the injury caused something to happen in my brain, BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT! I'm not a cripple and I don't want people watching me like I'm going to keel over dead any second.

It doesn't help that I'm also trapped in my room. The doctor, Dr. Hughes, said that there was a cyst in my brain. He's not sure where it came from, but it was well hidden, which is how no one had noticed it before. Vincent says that it formed during the augmentations; a side-effect of the rush job that I suffered. Like Hughes, he hadn't noticed the danger and is currently kicking himself into oblivion, which isn't helping my headache. When I got shot in the head, the cyst ruptured. Suffice to say, that caused a lot of damage. Five days. That's how long I was 'out' though I was actually fading in and out of consciousness. No one was sure if I would live or not; Eric was even called back just in case I didn't make it. But I pulled through somehow.

That doesn't mean that everything is fine now. I'm still weak, and Dr. Hughes refuses to let me off of bed rest. I'd argue with him, but Eric gives me this look every time I open my mouth. Considering he has the power to ground me, I end up swallowing my words. It's strange, having a parent again. Mendez was close but this...this is different.

Ah, sorry. I drifted. Which is one reason why Dr. Hughes won't let me back into training, and I have to reluctantly agree with him there. My slips aren't big or common, but they do happen. Losing focus in my room is one thing, but on the training field the smallest slip could be catastrophic. I just hate not being allowed to do anything. The very last thing I was designed for is a life of peace and relaxation. So when the most interesting thing to happen is General Black coming by to explain what will happen to the cadet that shot me, I get a little stir crazy.

Though, I will admit that that particular conversation was...enlightening. Apparently one of the senior cadets had been so upset about having a freshman share his rank, that he decided to prove I was inferior. During a training run in the forest, he turned traitor and shot me in the back of the head. While it is true that I had my helmet on and it was only a stun round, the impact still ruptured the cyst and we all know what happened next. Because of the fact that I nearly died and that the UNSC doesn't need someone willing to kill a teammate on their roster, the Academy is beyond pissed. The only reason they haven't expelled him is because they want to punish him with military law.

Frankly, I don't care about him. That's not to say I'm not angry. I am; I am so far beyond pissed it's not even funny. But I'm not just angry at the idiot cadet. I'm angry at Dr. Hughes for thinking he knows what's best for me. I'm angry at Eric for not letting me fight. I'm angry at the students that keep stopping by and staring at me like I'm some freak at a circus. And I'm angry at myself for not being able to control my feelings. I'm better than this, I know I am. I was trained to be better.

I know that this anger isn't natural, but I don't know what to do with it. Every time someone looks at me, I want to scream at them. I feel so weak, and I can't stand the feeling. Maybe that's something Mendez should have taught us. How to deal with weakness, instead of just pretending it never happened. We're Spartans but...no...never mind. I keep forgetting that I'm not one of them. Not anymore. This damn cyst really mixed my head up.

That doesn't stop me from feeling that I'm different from everyone around me. Just another reason why I hate when they judge me. They're not me, they're nothing like me, yet they judge me like we're the same. All of them. The faculty, the students, they just...ARGH! I HATE THIS! I HATE THEM!

Except...in the rare quite moments when I can finally focus, I realize that I'm not angry. I'm scared. Of myself. Of what was done to me. Of what I can do. Of what I lost. I don't like being scared. I was a Spartan. I should be stronger. But I'm not.

Enough of this. I'm done.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ You're not me _from Yu-Gi-Oh._


	18. Cadmon: Always Gold

25260204

Dear Kaine,

I know what you're thinking. Who the hell would write me an honest-to-god-paper-letter? What can I say, I'm bored. I've already written to my parents and Tom, so I thought, what the heck. You're basically a little sister to me, so I should include you in my letter fest, right?

Believe it or not, I've been hearing about your exploits at Corbulo. Colonel Mehaffey and I have kept in touch, and she speaks of you often. Just the other day she mentioned that you nearly beat my record on the EOD exam. Considering you probably learned how to disarm those explosives when you were ten, I suppose I should thank you for not obliterating my legacy. Still, it's interesting reading about how good you're doing. I'll be honest, I wasn't sure you could actually pull off a 'perfectly normal human' act, but clearly I was wrong. Never thought I'd be so happy to say that. Come to think of it, Thomas talks about you too, though he probably doesn't know it. He keeps mentioning this 'redhead' senior that's taking the campus by storm. I shared the story he sent, about you talking circles around the theology teacher to the point where he actually handed in his resignation before the class finished, with my platoon and everyone nearly died laughing. You probably aren't aware of how long we've been trying to get that coot to retire, but we thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

...Colonel Faldon talks about you too. He's not quite so...chirpy with his stories. More like outright worried. He says you haven't called him, even though he gave the direct link to his COM. I mean, he didn't really expect you to call every day or anything like that, but an increase in communication had been the intention, and the fact that there was no change concerns him. If I'm honest, I'm kinda worried about that part too. I'm not trying to lecture you; the last time I thought I could you sicked a fifteen foot rat on me. But I do think part of the problem is that we're expecting you to open up to us, when we aren't doing the same to you. That's hardly fair, so I'm trying to correct it.

I know your childhood was very different from mine. For crying out loud, when I was eight the biggest issue I had was feeling guilty I'd eaten the piece of pie Thomas had been saving for mom. The stuff you went through, the way you were treated...I can't fathom it. I feel like I got a tiny glimpse of it at Faldon's cabin, but it's really something that can only be understood by those that lived it, isn't it? It's just...sometimes I feel like you think you're still there. That Faldon and I aren't any different from the people that raised you, but we are. We don't want to order you, we don't want you to be our little weapon. At least, I don't. As amazing as I know you are on the battlefield, I'd really prefer a friend. Someone I can laugh and joke with, and who can do the same with me.

You might not remember, but at the cabin, you spoke of 'The Doctor' quite a bit, usually with some form of hatred attached. I'll admit, some of your rants were rather entertaining, but one of them broke my heart. You were going on and on about how The Doctor had picked everyone in the program and how she was biased and a bitch (yes, I know, you didn't say the word but she really is), but then you went quiet. I mean you kinda...you kinda drooped. Like there was a fire inside you and it just went out. Then, in a really quiet voice, you whispered, "I guess I was never good enough."

First, let me make one thing clear. You're right; you're not good _enough_. You are so much _more_. You are a person that has been through hell and can still smile. You're a beautiful person that has stared into the face of humanities dark secrets and not lost faith in them. You are the one that risked everything for those you cared about, going above and beyond what anyone could ask of you. And you've never turned your back on anyone. If anyone is not good enough, it's The Doctor. Can you understand that?

The first time I saw you, you were so small. I thought to myself, 'I could fold her up and put her in my pack and it wouldn't be any heavier.' You blew that out of the water the second we stepped into that wrecked ship, and by the time you left I was thinking, 'She could fold me up and use me as a frisbee without breaking a sweat, but she won't, because she's better than that.' Because I saw you, maybe clearer than you've ever seen yourself. And Eric sees you too, but we've both only seen pieces, and we want to know you. We want to help you. Because, to us, you're worth it.

Gotta go, but give me a call soon, okay sis? Love ya.

~Cadmon

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Always Gold _by Radical Face._


	19. I'm Still Here

Time: 2000\

February 13, 2526\

Circinius IV, Corbulo Academy

The good news is I'm back to normal duty. The bad news is I'm back to normal duty. One thing about bed rest on a Military Academy campus is that I didn't have to see a lot of people every day. Just the doctor, Eric, and Orenski, the cadet that was assigned to bring me my homework. Sure, it got boring, but at least I didn't have to deal with all the stares and whispers I'm subjected to now. I can't walk down the hall without sending the rumor mill into overtime. You would think that soldiers in training would have more important things to do with their time. So...yeah...I'm still a bit whiny. Sorry. It's still a little hard, not really fitting in with everyone around me. Among my sibli–the Spartans, we were all pretty equal and didn't really feel alone. Sure, some stood out in certain areas, but the distance between people wasn't as great as it is here. Among the Spartans, my recovery would be expected. Here, it's a mystery that everyone wants to solve. So, yeah, still feel a bit like a freak.

Still, as much as I complain about it, it's nice to get out of my room again. My teachers have been easing me back into classwork and training. It chafes, sometimes, but I've managed to curb most of my complaints about it. After all, they can't know how fast I bounce back from injury. That would be a one way ticket to ONI. So as annoying as it it, I'll stay a question for now. Besides, Eric says that sometimes it's a good thing to have people watching me in situations like this. Usually, they're only looking for one thing and won't notice anything else, like wanting to see how weak I am and so not noticing that my movements are a bit more jerky and uncontrolled. He must be right, since no one noticed the dent I put in the weapons locker the other day.

Speaking of Eric, he has returned to the front lines now that there is no danger of my keeling over dead any second. However, he set up a special COM link so that I could call him whenever I felt the need. It was sweet, if a little awkward. I mean, I've never been much of a talker, as evidence by years spent virtually silent, so why would I need a personal COM link? Apparently it's a parent thing. He feels better knowing I can contact him at any time, regardless of if I actually use it or not.

Disregarding the set back of the cyst, things have been going pretty well for me. No one has noticed any slip-ups I've made, I'm on track for graduating at the end of the semester, and my scores will give me instant access to the ODSTs. For all the changes and enhancements I've gone through, I wasn't really sure I could reach my goals. I mean, the odds were stacked against me from the very beginning, and sometimes it was everything I could do to just make it through a single day. But that's the secret. Just take each day by itself. Don't think about what you could have done yesterday, don't think about what you could do tomorrow. Everything revolves around what you're doing right now, and that's not such a big deal.

I still miss the Spartans. That's probably never going to go away. But I'm learning to let go of that time in my life. It's a lot like when I had to let go of my life before the UNSC. There's pain in the releasing, but once I've let go I realize just how much pain holding on was causing. I feel like I've never really been able to move on, and that's where most of my problems were coming from. So the next logical step is to stop hurting myself.

I'm not saying it's going to be easy. There's a hole in my heart that is never going to go away, but holding on won't fill that emptiness any more than letting go will. Besides, I'm starting to realize that letting go doesn't necessarily mean losing myself. I'm still me. I'm still the little girl that wanted to beat her sister at least once. I'm still the Spartan that was stubborn enough to not talk for six years. I'm still the soldier that beat every augmentation that the scientists threw at me. I'm still the survivor that learned how to live with a body that didn't feel like my own. That person won't ever change. She'll just...move on. So in that spirit, let's try the beginning one more time.

I'm Kaine Faldon, and my past is no one business but my own. There was a time when I had a family, but all I have now is my father, Eric Faldon, and that's enough. I'm a soldier, and will likely be one until the day I die, but that's okay. It's not the life I picked, but it's what I'm good at. And while it won't be an easy life either, it will be something I can be proud of at the end.

Now all I have to do is believe it.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ I'm Still Here _by John Rzeznik._


	20. Stay With Me

Time: 1600\

March 06, 2526\

Circinius IV, Corbulo Academy

I'm...not really sure how to start this entry. I don't even want to write it, but...nothing else is working. Running, shooting, fighting, screaming, it's not enough. The emotions just won't go away, won't allow me to control them. So writing is all I have left.

We received word today of an ODST squad that was wiped out by Insurrectionists on Andesia. It was Cadmon's squad. When I called Eric, he confirmed Cadmon's death and I've been pretty numb ever since. It's hard to imagine. Somehow, it never occurred to me that losing a non-Spartan friend would hurt as much as losing a Spartan. If anyone had told me so a week ago, I would have scoffed. Of course, that was before I felt like my heart was ripped from my chest.

I haven't been sleeping well since we got the news. My mind just keeps playing the last memory I have of Cadmon, screaming like a little girl as I shoved a snowball down the back of his shirt. There are several videos from him on my COM table, but I can't watch them anymore. Sometimes I'll just bring one up and listen, trying to focus on his voice and not think about the fact that I'll never hear him again. Most of the time, it doesn't work. So I'll wander the halls at night instead, trying to blank my mind. Some nights I play with the idea of shutting down, but I haven't gotten that desperate yet. Our instructors always said it was a dangerous technique, and Cadmon wouldn't want me to risk my life because of him. But it's tempting. So, so tempting.

I'm not the only person struggling. General Black and Colonel Mehaffey have been quieter recently too. Cadmon had been the pride of the Academy, and losing him hit the faculty hard. Everywhere we look, there are black bands on arms, the military form of mourning. Admiral Lasky even stopped by for a few minutes, though you couldn't tell by looking at her that anything was wrong. I knew she had to be upset, but her Ice-cold-Bitch mask was perfect enough to make me doubt.

But there's no question that no one at the Academy is hurting more than Thomas. I've tried to keep an eye on him since word came in, something I know Cadmon would approve of, and I'm worried about what I'm seeing. Thomas was really living up to everyone's expectations until now. The loss of his brother has hit him hard, and I don't know if he's gonna get back up. Everyone's trying to be understanding, I can see that, but it's not going to be enough. They expect him to be a soldier, expect him to get back on his feet and move on. His own mother refused to let her son come home for his brother's funeral as there were no actual remains to bury and it would be only the ceremony. No one sees the fact that he's a child that just lost his best friend and brother. No one but me, and I can't reach out to him without risking my own neck. All I can do is watch, and I'm not sure it's enough.

They're having a memorial for Cadmon today; all of the students are required to attend. When they were gathering, I left the base with General Black's permission. He knows how close I was to Cadmon and lets me grieve my own way. Thus why I'm out here in the forest, sitting in a tree, hidden from the world. It started raining a while ago, but the tree limbs above keep me dry. However, they don't protect me from the chill that's settling over everything. For the first time since augmentations, I feel cold and I don't know why. It's almost like there's ice in my chest, chilling my entire body. The cold grows sharper when I look at the Academy through the falling water. It looks no different than it had a month before, completely unaware that so many hearts are lying in shattered pieces. To the military, the loss of a single soldier is hardly worth noticing. To the family and friends of the soldier, that loss is enough to destroy worlds. Just like mine.

My head is echoing with all the things I wished I'd said and my heart is aching for all the times I took Cadmon for granted. Maybe it wouldn't be this bad if I was still a Spartan, but I'm not. I'm alone and it's killing me. If it hadn't been for Cadmon, I literally would not be here. I never would have gone to Corbulo, I never would have made it off the ONI ship to Eric, I never would have found Vincent to get in this hell to begin with. Everything I have, everything I am right now, is because of Cadmon. He was my friend, my confidant, my support. He gave me as much freedom as he could and showed me to look at the light instead of living solely in the dark. Almost as much as any Spartan, he was my world.

And he's...gone.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Stay With Me _by Danity Kane._


	21. John: Someday Out of the Blue

25260308

Dear Klare,

Do you remember the day we met? I'd been such an asshole to Kelly and Sam, and felt like I was alone in such a strange place. How could I win and yet lose at the same time? It was driving me mad. But then you'd smiled and suddenly everything didn't seem so bad. I mean, I was still super hungry and my team was still pissed at me, but at least there was one person that didn't hate my guts, right? So when we got through the game and everyone seemed happy, I knew I had to find you and say thanks, because you were the one to turn it all around and it was only polite to thank you for that. Still, when I looked into your eyes and realized just how big and green they were, I should have realized that I was a goner.

From that day on, you were just...everywhere. No matter what we did, you were at my back. I couldn't get away from you, but I didn't want to. There was just something about you. We were all strong and independent, but for the first few months everyone else felt like a rival. People I had to beat in order to become King of the Hill. You were never that way. Your strength was quite and protective, not a threat. In a world filled with darkness and danger, I started to rely on you, and I couldn't feel angry about it.

When you stopped talking to us, it broke my heart. I felt like I'd done something wrong; pushed you away when you were the one person I depended on. It was driving me insane, especially when you refused to let me get close again. Honestly, I lost count of how many times I would lay awake at night, staring at you from across the barracks, wondering what I could say or do to make things right. Then you went on that mission and I was so afraid. I've never felt fear like that before, and I haven't since. I couldn't understand it, but I knew if you didn't come back I'd have lost something that was more precious than I could ever understand. So when you came trotting back into the barracks, completely unmarked, I knew I couldn't let you go again. If that meant going the rest of my life without hearing your voice again, so be it. So long as I could keep you close.

I never meant to love you. Well, besides platonically, of course, because let's face it, we all love each other. When I realized just how deep my feelings for you went, I panicked. I tried to tell myself that I was wrong. There was no way I could love you that way; I was just being protective because you were one of my soldiers. We all knew you could take care of yourself, but other people wouldn't understand. Your reluctance to talk would make you a target, and I wanted to protect you from that. At least, that's what I kept telling myself it was.

Now, I can finally admit the truth. I love you. If I'm super honest, I've loved you since that moment you smiled. Every second I spent with you after that just drove the fact deeper and deeper into my heart until I couldn't deny it. When I stood before you, that chaplain saying things I couldn't care less about, I felt like my chest was going to burst. You were so beautiful, in every way I could think of. I wanted to spend the rest of my life staring into those eyes that spoke louder than anything you could have actually said. For the first time since I'd woken from cryo on Reach, I was happy. Beyond happy, really. I was...home.

And then you were gone. I remember how you glanced back at me as we were separated, clearly worried but trusting. That's something I can never forgive myself for. You trusted me to protect everyone, to get us out, and I failed. Not just you, but every sibling we lost that day. If I'd just done something, maybe I could have saved them, but I didn't. I trusted the adults, and you paid the price. No matter how old I get, I'll never be able to forget Chief Mendez's face as he cried. That when I knew you were gone. Honestly, I think part of me died at that moment too.

You're probably wondering why I'm writing this. After all, you've been dead for a year, so why write a letter to a dead person? Well, it's our first anniversary, and I can't bare the thought of talking to anyone. It's like you're a ghost, hanging off my shoulder, tormenting me. I know you're not; slow torture into insanity isn't your style. But I had to vent somehow, so I'm writing this, dying inside because I know you'll never read it, but I have to say it. I love you. Forever.

~John

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Someday Out of the Blue _by Elton John._


	22. Kiss It All Better

Time: 2145\

March 21, 2526\

Circinius IV, Corbulo Academy

The bad entries just keep coming, don't they? There was another funeral this week, though it was almost worse than Cadmon's, despite not having the personal aspect. But I suppose I should back up a bit. Every other month, senior cadets in good standing have a chance to go to the city for a weekend of relaxation. The book of rules we need to follow for the privilege is more extensive than Deja's summary of the colonization of Reach (which took us two weeks to get through) but most cadets find it worth the effort just to get some fresh air without getting yelled at by an instructor for a few hours. For this reasons, the weekends are greatly coveted and envied.

To be honest, most of the time I do not attend the event, preferring to remain on campus and work on my personal projects. However, this last weekend I agreed to go down, hoping a change of scenery would help me forget Cadmon. I ended up traveling with Jericho Squad, the group I'm usually assigned to for advanced weaponry drills since I'm not actually assigned to any one squad. Still, of all the people I have to train with, Jericho is the most tolerable, and that weekend was very special to them. Greyson, the team leader, had asked his long-time girlfriend, Anna, a Corbulo alumni, to marry him and she'd said yes. Everyone was going to celebrate and they were more than happy to invite me along. After all, the more the merrier, right?

It all started so well. We met up with Anna and started wandering the city, taking in the sights and talking about our futures. Greyson had just suggested we all go for lunch when this man stepped out from around a corner, firing a single shot in our direction. Our training took over and we dropped, giving the person time to run. But when I went to get up and chase after him, I heard a cry from behind and turned to see Anna pressing her hands over her stomach, blood pouring out far too fast. Greyson was by her side in a second, but I knew it was too late. The bullet had hit an artery; she'd be dead before we could move her fifty feet.

"It's not your fault," Anna said, trying to smile for him, but she couldn't quite manage the muscle coordination. "You didn't...know..." And then she was gone. No fanfare. No recognition. Just gone, like so many before her. Perhaps that's what the poets meant, about the world ending with a whisper instead of a bang.

Everything was a blur after that. Greyson went racing off, chasing down the man that had killed his love, while the other Jericho members and I stayed with the body. Emergency responders and Corbulo faculty were there faster than I'd thought possible, but there was nothing that could be done. What had started as a day to make plans for the future ended with all those plans zipped up in a body bag. All cadets were shuttled back to campus as quick as they could be found, and the campus has been in a state of shock ever since.

Anna had no family, so her funeral was held on Academy grounds. Most of the students from Corbulo could go their entire training time without ever attending a funeral, and now we had had two within the month. I don't want to sound like an alarmist, but if this was a sign of things to come, we are all doomed. But maybe that's just my paranoia talking.

I hadn't seen Greyson at the funeral, or since he'd run after the shooter to be honest, and had wondered if he was unable to attend, but back in the dorms I overheard General Black and Colonel Mehaffey talking about how Cadet Greyson was awaiting trial. According to them, he had caught up with the man, an Insurrectionist that had been targeting Corbulo cadets, and killed him, shooting him in the back. The Academy was claiming that he was mad with grief and a trained soldier, but the city people were in uproar, calling him a murderer. His odds of staying in the military were slim, if he didn't kill himself from grief first.

It's several hours later, and I can't get everything out of my head. None of this was fair; it shouldn't have happened. Anna, Cadmon, the Spartans. No matter what, it seems like hatred will not stop until absolutely everything is gone and destroyed. I'd call it hell, but it's not. This is war, and it's so much worse than hell, because in hell there's no innocent bystanders. In war, there's nothing but.

...yet I can't help but feel the worst is yet to come...

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Kiss It All Better _by He is We._


	23. This is War

Time: 0920\

April 29, 2526\

Aboard shuttle to Reach

Okay, when I said the worst had yet to come, I'd like to clarify, THIS IS NOT WHAT I HAD IN MIND! Giant alien freaks descending on the Academy and wiping nearly everyone out was the very _last_ thing on my mind. I mean, honestly, I figured the worst it would get is an EOD exam with live ordinance. This...this...

And then, the cherry on top of this Horrible Day sundae was running into Fred. I mean, it was bad enough to be RIGHT NEXT TO John, but it was tolerable the way getting shot in the foot is. Painful, yes, but not lethal. It helped that he was so deep in denial he wouldn't have figured out who I was if I'd yanked off that helmet and kissed him, which I was tempted, I will admit. But Fred is another story entirely. John knows me, but Fred _knows_ me. There was no way I was going to get out of that confrontation, though it admittedly went much better than I'd thought possible. But still –

– Vincent says I'm ignoring the real issue. I'd make some comment about how he's being a paranoid old man again, but this journal is literally filled with examples of Vincent warning me that I'm in denial, me arguing, and him getting proved right. So instead, I shall say, yes! I am ignoring it, thank you very much, you bloody computer algorithm. I just watched nearly an entire military school get wiped out and had an emotional confrontation with one of my brothers. Therefore, I have the right to be in denial for a little bit longer, you computing, emotionless bastard!

...we really need to get this journal writing sub-program fixed so it stops writing every damn thing I think.

Most of my issues at the moment stem from the fact that I am trapped on a shuttle with nothing to do but stare out the window and twiddle my thumbs. We're due to arrive at Reach in the next few minutes and everyone else is being woken from cryo, but I've spent the entire trip awake because of my allergy. Sure, I've had a lot of natural sleep, but being confined on a shuttle and not being able to expend energy means that I don't require a lot of sleep, which leads to me being awake for days on end. Thinking about what happened on Corbulo, about how much has changed now, will have me literally climbing the walls. So yes, I'm ignoring it. I have to.

Except for the fact that I can't. Every hour, the ship receives an update about what the aliens, apparently called Covenant, are doing. I'd heard rumors that the UNSC had lost contact with Harvest a few weeks ago, but I'd never thought...well, that goes without saying, doesn't it? I'd never thought anything like this could happen, so of course I'd never thought losing Harvest was possible.

Suddenly, I'm not sure about my choices anymore. These Covenant; they're big and they're strong. I'd watched them tear full grown soldiers apart with their bare hands. One of the biggest, a creature in gold armor, had picked me up and thrown me like I was a rag doll. I know I put on a brave face for Lasky and Fred, but I'd been honestly scared. In all my time with the Spartans, we'd never been trained to fight anything other than human. If John, the luckiest of all of us, could barely hold his own against this enemy, what hope did everyone else have? So sitting here, going back to Reach and Eric, I wonder if I've made the right choice to stay in the UNSC. I wonder if I can fight in a war I haven't been trained for.

But there's one thing that keeps my butt in the seat. We hadn't been trained to fight aliens, but we _had_ been trained to adapt, and that's exactly what I'm going to do. If the battle at Corbulo proved nothing else, it proved that these creatures can be taken down. Humans shine their brightest when they're put under pressure, and I've no doubt we'll do it again. So right now, despite all my doubts, the best place I can be is with Eric as an ODST. Because, if for no one else but Chyler, I _will_ be there when humanity gets back up and shows these Covenant assholes just who they decided to mess with.

We've dropped out of Slipspace now, and Reach is looming before me, as big and intimidating as it has ever been. It looks the same as when I'd left for the Academy, but it feel different. Newer. There are more ships circling the planet, and I can see several new Tethers already being constructed. If the aliens want this world, they better be ready to die for it. Because this is what I've been trained for. This is war.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ This is War _by 30 Seconds to Mars._


	24. Echo

Time: 1630\

May 15, 2526\

Aboard the UNSC _Excalibur_

I've been an official ODST for two weeks now, and I've already had a man say that I should be at home, taking care of the kids. He'd seen my wedding ring and thought that it would be a good idea to poke fun at the married rookie. Too bad he didn't get the memo about Commander Faldon being my adopted father. Eric tore that soldier into little tiny pieces and is currently roasting them over the fires of disciplinary actions, but his comment is making me stop and think. I knew, logically, that there weren't a lot of females in the ODST Corps. There's nothing stopping them, but most are either uninterested, fill non-combat roles (which 95% of the Corps is combat), or wash out of training. The few that are left always manage to prove themselves a thousand times over, but each one goes through the same treatment, like we're somehow less than a man because we don't have something hanging between our legs.

In all honesty, I really shouldn't have been surprised by the soldier's comment, but I was. This...bias over gender is not something I've ever really tackled before. In the Spartans, we were all equal. The boys knew the girls could wipe the floor with them if they so desired, and they treated us accordingly. I never felt the need to prove myself to someone just because their genitalia was different from mine.

Here, though, that is apparently my one and only job. No matter what duty I'm assigned, everyone is watching me, waiting for me to fail. Not because I'm new or young, but because I'm a female. If my control wasn't so tight, I would have gone on a massacre days ago. As it is, I'm barely able to grit my teeth and bare it.

This mentality just doesn't make any sense. Most women aren't as physically strong as men, but this bias certainly doesn't help. Maybe that was the reason the Spartans had been raised as equals from the very first day. The training was designed specifically to make everyone prove their worth by what they could do, not by what they were. I'm not sure any Spartan could fulfill a standard gender role anymore. The females are too independent and the men would expect all women to do their fair share of the work/duty/mission.

But I think the hardest part about this experience is how much I wanted to tell John about it. The mere idea of what he would have done to the poor soldier makes me want to laugh. Who knows, Eric might actually let him get away with it too. And if Mendez had been here, oh boy. That would be one dead soldier. But my point (I have a point?) is that John _never_ acted like that. The one time he had ever treated me like a girl was during our wedding, and that was to be expected. And...unusually sweet, come to think of it.

To be honest, I don't like thinking about our wedding anymore. Strange, since I don't regret it in any way, but it just...hurts to think about. And before you start, shut up, Vincent. I know, I know, ignoring my problems will not make them go away, but there's not a hell of a lot of other options. I can't even file for a divorce, which I wouldn't do even if I could, because I'm _dead_. Funnily enough, marriage laws only apply to people who are classified as alive.

Still, this is the first time I've been able to think about our marriage since our one-year anniversary. Mehaffey had been so mad at me when I disappeared for an entire day and she never did find out how I snuck off the base. Amazing how no one ever thinks to look under a vehicle as it leaves the Academy. Bumpy, but totally worth it for a day of wandering the woods, able to just sit and think at last. My heart still aches when I think of how little time John and I had actually had, and I want to scream at the thought of how long I'd fought him on the subject. But that's all in the past and I have to leave it there. I can't be that person anymore, because if I am I'll be nothing more than an island, cut off from everyone and doomed to slowly disappear.

So instead, I'll hold my head high. I'll prove myself to every person that thinks I need to, and I'll do it in such a way to make them regret doubting me. In the mean time, it seems I'll be sufficiently entertained. Tales of Eric's reaction has spread, and there's already three rumors cycling about who my mystery husband could be. Wonder if they'll ever get close.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Echo _by Jason Walker._


	25. Breathe

Time: 0830\

May 27, 2526\

Aboard the UNSC _Excalibur_

So it turns out that my allergy to cytoprethaline has gotten worse. Hadn't been aware that was possible, but I was pulled out of cryo ten minutes into a Slipspace jump because Vincent noticed a lethal spike in my body's reaction to the drug. Doc says if I'd stayed in the tube for one more minute, I would have been dead when they pulled me out. I am therefore assigned to Eric's quarters for the duration of this journey, with an alternate location being chosen for future jumps. This leaves me plenty of time to plan out my excuses as to why not being in cryo does not adversely affect me. That's going to be a fun conversation.

Sadly enough, I've spent most of my time trying to keep my breathing steady and regular. It's like there's a clamp around my chest and I can't breathe past it. Shallow breaths are fine, but anything even remotely deep makes it feel like there is a dagger in my chest. Ignoring the pain doesn't help, as that usually sends me into an uncontrolled coughing fit. However, the shallow breathing does not provide enough oxygen for me to be activate, so I've spent 90% of my time sitting on Eric's bed, reading his collection of ancient Earth literature. All I can say on that subject is that early 21st century authors had a very interesting idea of how the future would look.

All this focus on my breathing has reminded me of Instructor May, though. We didn't have many female teachers, but May was in a class by herself. There was no single person we feared more. She was rather short, not even topping five-feet, and had a very soft a pleasant demeanor at all times. When we met her for the first time, she held her hand out to John with a smile, and when he grabbed to shake, she spun and threw him over her shoulder and into the river. Before any of us could move, she'd turned back, smile still in place. "This is me in a good mood," she said. "Do any of you want to see me in a bad one?" We shook our heads. "Good. Then we'll get along splendidly." From that day forward, most of our bruises came from May.

Despite her prowess in throwing unsuspecting cadets into hard and unmoving objects, May was the one to teach us meditation, oddly enough. She claimed that the only way we'd become effective warriors is if our minds were as disciplined as our bodies. Of course, sitting and letting our minds go blank wasn't really something any Spartan was good at, and we got cracked over the heads with metal poles more often than I care to remember, but eventually we learned to value the peace and quiet as much as she did. By the end of our training, we could all fall into a meditative state while on the middle of a battlefield as we're getting shot at.

The first time we had cryo training, I nearly didn't make it out of the tube, my allergy reacted so fast. I wasn't unconscious, but my throat had swelled shut and my lungs felt like they were on fire. All around me I could hear adults yelling, and I thought I heard Fred calling for me, but I was in a panic. My vision was going dark and I was trying to hard to pull in a breath, but I couldn't. Then, in the middle of that chaotic storm, a hand rested on my shoulder. Looking up, I was surprised to see Instructor May, gazing at me calmly. "It's okay," she said, somehow very clear. "You can do this. Just pretend we're meditating and take a breath." I thought she was crazy, but decided it wouldn't hurt to try, so I closed my eyes, blanked my mind, and took a breath. Except this time, it worked. It wasn't a full breath and no where near what I would usually do, but it was air. "Keep breathing. Go on, breathe in. Keep on breathing. Just breathe." She kept repeating that, again and again, her voice calm and steady. With her guidance, I was able to focus until Halsey showed up and gave me a shot to counteract the allergy. It's because of her that I survived. After that, she always made sure to focus on my breathing, giving me tips for how to regulate airflow more efficiently than most soldiers. She helped me live.

Now, all these years later, I find myself breathing to the same count that she always gave us. Despite the burn in my chest and the tightness in my throat, I keep a steady rhythm. It's the only reason I've lasted as long as I have, and it's saved my life more times than I can count. The fact that the technique came from a particularly violent chinchilla is amusing, though I'd never tell her that. I like to live, after all. So I'm going to do what she said. Just breathe.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Breathe _by Superchick._


	26. Superman

Time 1900\

December 14, 2526\

Aboard the UNSC _Excalibur_

Turns out hiding my augmentations while in Corbulo was not proper training in how to hide the enhancements from ODSTs. It hasn't even been a complete year, and I've already gotten several people suspicious of my abilities. Though, to be fair, flipping over that Warthog to get the Corporal out hadn't been my best move. Eric had thanked me, as had the Corporal's squad, but that didn't change the fact that everyone was trying to figure out how I did it. Adrenaline surge covered that instance, but that excuse could stretch only so far.

It's not just the strength, either. My speed has gotten me in trouble several times. It's just...I can't figure out how to slow myself down on the battlefield. On a ship or in a classroom is one thing; I can keep myself under control and tightly regulate how I react to everything. However, once I'm in a battle my training takes over and I'm exactly what I was trained to be. Simply put, not human.

Eric's been covering my ass as much as he can, but his sway isn't infinite. All it would take is one slip up around the wrong person and everything we've worked for will go up in smoke. ONI will find me, will find the execution order, and I'll be killed, though I'm starting to wonder how. I'm not sure exactly how many bullets it would take to bring me down, and I'm not anxious to find out. Yet I can't stop. Slowing on the battlefield could result in deaths that would have been avoided if I'd been operating at full ability.

...I'm talking in circles again. Really, I need to stop this. In the Spartan program, circular thinking didn't really exist. We kept moving forward, though not necessarily in a straight line. This going around and around thing is beyond annoying. It's also useless and time consuming, but mostly annoying. In the Spartan program, we didn't really need to think that far ahead. We were never meant to plan out the entirety of a war, but instead we focused on each individual mission. The farthest we had to plan is a couple months.

Everything is different now. I'm having to analyze my every action, not just for the immediate consequences but also how I'll be affected in the future. Suddenly, I'm having to think about what will be happening years from now. Despite how long I've been out of the program, it's still strange. Eric says the ability to think so broadly and so far ahead is the mark of an officer. I therefore informed him that I will never become an officer. Although something tells me that that's going to come back to bite me in the ass.

When I was little, my grandmother would tell me stories from Earth. My favorites were about superheros, like Ironman and Batman. However, I didn't really care for the stories about Superman. He just...I don't know. It was always hard to feel a connection to him. Heroes like Captain America with his poor background, or Spiderman and how he was affected by the loss of his uncle, seemed much more real. An alien that had really amazing powers and lost his entire planet was a lot harder to wrap my young mind around.

Now I'm starting to think I'm no different from him. He was always trying to hide who he was, going so far as to use a false identity, and he had to be so careful not to hurt anyone around him accidentally. Sound familiar? I could be a modern day Clark Kent. The similarities between us is a bit frightening, if I'm honest. We lost our childhood homes and were raised by strangers, we're much stronger and faster than everyone around us, we both have to hide who we really are, and we both are just trying to find a place where we can live in peace. The only difference I can find, besides the obvious like gender, is that Superman has Batman as a friend. Despite the fact that the Bat is really negative and reclusive, Superman knows he can always depend on the man for help/advise. I've got no one to be my Batman. Not even Eric.

If I was going to be Superman, though, there is one thing I'd do all the time. I'd fly. I mean, right now I can't stand it. Being in a dropship is agony because I can't control anything. No Spartan likes being in those situations, so we've learned to tolerate instead. But can you imagine what it would be like to fly? For real? I'd never land. It would just be wide open skies and the sun on my face. In that, I'd want to be Clark. But I guess I can only dream.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Superman _by Five for Fighting._


	27. Astronaut

Time: 0500\

February 22, 2527\

Aboard the UNSC _Excalibur_

In ancient Earth times, people that went into space were called astronauts. They left the planet in a super flimsy tin can that could explode because of the tiniest mistake, and spent months trapped inside pressurized steel cans that orbited their home. When Deja first told us that part of human history, I couldn't even begin to understand what those humans must have thought and felt. To be in a place where you were completely isolated and there was no way anyone could help if something went wrong; it boggled the mind!

Now...I feel like I do. Yes, I'm always around other people; it's an occupational hazard for being in the military. I go to class, I train in the training courts, I eat in the mess hall, and there's always about a hundred other humans doing the same thing. Yet, I feel isolated. I watch these people and wonder what life is like to them that they complain about sleeping for only six hours. When they struggle to lift a weight or finish an obstacle course, I try to comprehend how they can fail at something so simple. Then I remember that I'm not like them at all. I couldn't understand them, no matter how hard I tried.

It's painful; I feel like I'm trapped. I'm in my own little tin can, completely cut off from the rest of the world as I watch it pass by right before me. No matter how hard I pound on the sides, no matter how loud I scream, they won't hear me. If something goes wrong, they won't be able to help. They'll just watch as I crash and burn, unable to even consider lending a helping hand because they won't be able to know what went wrong.

I know I'm not alone in this. Whenever I see videos or photos of the Spartans, my siblings are always standing a bit separate from the other humans. No one that didn't know them would be able to tell, but their postures show that they are uncomfortable; they don't want to be there. Maybe it's the fact that we were raised to be secrets and now they're splashed across every screen, but that doesn't change the fact that they aren't comfortable with humans. They probably never will be. Now the question is, will I be?

Vincent keeps assuring me that I'll adjust better than the other Spartans, partially because I'm exposed to more humans than they are on a daily basis and partially because I was working outside the Spartan project back when I was ten. However, he also insists that blueberries are mutated fungi and should be exterminated, so I'm not sure how much I believe him. For a smart AI, he can get pretty weird. He's also getting me in trouble, distracting me when I should be listening to an officer or randomly telling me things I shouldn't know. You'd think he would learn better after doing that nearly got me killed.

But I digress. My point is that, in this case, I hope he's right. About me adjusting, not the blueberry thing. Because the fact of the matter is, I'm not going to be able to avoid humans. I'm going to be around them every day for the rest of my life, and I need to learn how to live with them. This isn't something I can blow off or fake my way through, though I've done a good job at the latter. And it gets easier, though not as fast as I'd like, so maybe there is hope for me after all.

Sometimes, though, when I'm laying in my bunk at night and thinking about how nice it would be to just scream everything out, I wonder about my siblings. If I'm handling it better than them, what must they be going through? Sure, they have each other and I'm alone, but would that really make it better? I'm not sure it would anymore. Bad enough to go through hell, but to watch people you love and care for go through it too almost seems worse.

It doesn't happen much anymore, but sometimes I still have the urge to contact the others, let them know I'm alive. There are so many reasons to do it, I really have to focus on all the reasons why it's a very bad idea. Honestly, it doesn't seem fair to tell them I'm alive only to then have to invite them to my execution once ONI finds out. Still, when I feel trapped and cut off from everyone, it would be nice to have someone I can reach out to that isn't either digital or comprised of paper.

But that's just wishful thinking, and I don't really have time for it. So I'll just sit in my tin can and wonder if anyone will ever hear me.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Astronaut _by Simple Plan._


	28. It's My Turn to Fly

Time: 1755\

July 17, 2527\

Aboard the UNSC _Excalibur_

Well, that's a new one for me. I've heard of the phrase 'turning purple' in relation to peoples faces when they get angry, but I've never seen it before today. The Sergeant on duty today turned a lovely shade of violet when he learned I've never been in a drop-pod. Apparently it's something Corbulo is supposed to teach to anyone that is even considering becoming an ODST, but because of the attack, I was never trained.

When the NCO brought this to Eric's attention, they learned that there were several newer ODSTs in the same state I was in. With Covenant popping up all over the place, there was no time to focus on anything other than specialized training for all incoming marines, so those of us with no drop-pod training just fell through the cracks. At least, we did until now. Once the officers realized just how many of us were struggling to teach ourselves, they decided that training us would be a new priority, alongside screening new recruits to make sure they were up to date with everything they'd been taught.

Still, when Commander Faldon announced that we would be trained in the use, piloting, and maintenance of drop-pods, I'd assumed we would be receiving lessons. Turns out, the Sergeant in charge of teaching us was trained by the same people that had taught Chief Mendez, because his idea of 'teaching' was to put us in the pod, tell us which controls were used to fly the thing, and drop us. It was then that I learned something I'd previously been mostly unaware of.

I love to fall.

I mean, I'd known back in training that heights had never bothered me. And yes, the instructors had often complained about my tendency to jump off of places that I wasn't supposed to, but this was new. This was wonderful and exciting. Even though the pod is completely sealed, I could almost feel the wind in my hair as the ground grew closer every second. I'll admit, I laughed. Probably freaked out whatever ODST was listening in on my pod. And I know there were people listening, because all around me, I could see other pods suddenly deploying their parachutes. There were screams of fear from all over the COMs, but I noticed a couple other pods that were still falling, just like mine. Unless I was mistaken, they were the other new recruits that were handling the situation without terror.

I decided to try my luck with the controls and, taking a deep breath, grabbed hold and pulled them to the left. Sure enough, I shot to the left; I could feel everything shift and the pod groaned, forcing me to ease off. Noting that abrupt movements were apparently not recommended, I tried easing back instead. Again, the pod did as I directed. However, that was also the point when I realized the interior was getting hot. I'd been told about the tendency drop-pods had of catching fire during entry, giving rise to the nickname of Helljumper, but looking down and seeing flames curling about around my feet, kept at bay only by a thin piece of clear material was something else. The fear probably should have kicked in at that point, but it didn't. If anything, I just smiled all the wider and laughed again.

The other pods had started moving about as their occupants started experimenting, resulting in one or two close calls that resulted in at least one parachute being deployed. I was left alone, since I was far enough away from the cluster to avoid danger, but I did notice that instructions were being displayed on a screen. Considering they were drop coordinates, I started trying to work my pod into the requested position. Didn't manage to get all the way there before the Altitude Warning light started flashing and I had to trigger my own chute, and the impact was still very jarring and painful. Note to self, when landing, keep head pressed back against headrest as much as possible. Not doing so results in very bad headaches.

When the ODSTs came to pick me up, they told me that I'd gotten closest to the rendezvous location, and I'd been the only one insane enough to laugh. Honestly, that made me laugh again. Though Eric muttered that I would give him grey hairs in no time, which was also funny. I was pleased when the Sergeant said I showed the most promise of all the recruits, but that mood soured when I thought about how I'd gotten those reflexes and training over fear. Still, piloting drop-pods is a good skill to have. Maybe I can use it to scare my siblings. I can only hope, right?

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ It's My Turn to Fly _by The Urge._


	29. Somewhere Out There

Time: 0005\

October 01, 2527\

Aboard the UNSC _Excalibur_

I never knew just how lonely it would be, traveling by space ship all the freaking time. Eric's trying to help me adjust, I know he is, but there isn't much that can be done. Most of the crew is in cryosleep for the majority of the trip, leaving me alone to wander the halls, thanks to my damn allergy. Going hours without seeing anyone isn't exactly fun. Oh sure, I could go down to engineering and cause all sorts of trouble since I know absolutely nothing about ship maintenance. However, I'm trying to avoid giving those people an excuse to beam me over the head with a wrench. Although, if I'm honest, the wrench would probably be hurt more than I would.

All the same, being alone is clearly not a good idea for me. Mendez never did teach us what to do when we suddenly had time on our hands. Granted, he probably didn't think that would ever happen, but that doesn't exactly help me right now, does it? And don't you roll your eyes at me, okay, I'm trying. Its harder to adjust then I'd thought it would be, true, but I can do this. I just need time and...

Look at me. I'm having an argument with paper and memories. I really have gone off the deep end, haven't I? Remind me to find whomever suggested journaling as a good idea to Eric. Not that a piece of paper can actually remind me, but whatever.

I think the hardest part of this whole thing is knowing that no one knows about me. No one knows I'm still alive. Well, okay, that's not fair. Eric knows, as does Lasky. And Fred. But no one else. I just wish that someone, somewhere, was thinking about me. Loving me. Maybe even praying for me, though that would be a bit strange. I mean, I know we're really, really far apart. It doesn't even matter who I'm talking about, except maybe Eric. He's only three decks away. But everyone else is out there, somewhere, lost in the vastness of space. I can't see them, can't talk to them, can't look up at the same sky and maybe wish on the same star.

Okay, this pity party has gone on long enough. This is pathetic. I'm not this weak; not this dependent. Who cares that the Spartans don't know I'm still alive? Who cares that my blood family thinks I died a long time ago? Who cares that I'm virtually isolated on a ship of over two-thousand soldiers?

...and that's the problem, isn't it. I care.

I don't think they'll ever understand just how badly I wish things could have been different. I mean, I'm not going to lie to myself. If they ever found out the truth, they'd hate me. Every last one of them. I deserted them, my duty, my trainers, oh shit, Mendez would murder me. And he'd make it slow and painful. Maybe death by opera overdose. No, that's to humane for him. Okay, this is going to give me nightmares; time to move on.

I wonder what John would do. Would he yell at me? Punch me? Heh, yeah right. He'd never touch me. At least, I don't think so. Besides, that armor looked like it would hurt if it struck anything. But maybe he wouldn't do anything. Maybe he'd just turn away, pretending I don't exist. Something tells me that would be a lot more painful.

Who am I kidding? It would kill me, which is why I'm not sure I'd blame him. I don't know what he went through, hearing that I had died, but since I ripped his heart out its only fair that he rip out mine. Right? I mean, I know its morbid, but the idea is solid. An eye for an eye. Or, in this case, a shattered heart for a shattered heart. I deserve it. I'm sure you'd all agree. Well, you know, if you were actually here and not just memories bouncing around in my head.

And the most annoying thing of this entire hellhole situation is that I know I deserve the hurt, but I still want to see them. For the love of chocolate, fine! I admit it! I miss my brothers and sisters. I'd go back to them in a second. ONI, not so much, but that's a small price to pay for my family, right?

Maybe I shouldn't hope that I'll see everyone again, but I do. I hope that somehow, someday, (and man, do I hate the word 'some') we can be together again. You know, in that place where dreams come true.

Of course you don't know. You're paper. Time for a walk, before I start talking to the wall.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Somewhere Out There _by Linda Ronstadt._


	30. I'm Sorry

Time: 1300\

June 26, 2528\

Reach

Eric had some meetings on Reach that he needed to attend and he decided to bring me along. Partially because he wanted to get me off the damn ship before I started redecorating (he's a little concerned about how fun/easy demolition is for me) and partly so I could get some closure. After Corbulo I'd only been on Reach for a couple days, and most of that time was spent giving reports and filling out paperwork to become and ODST. Because of that, I didn't get the chance to do what I really wanted, which was to go see my old training base. The place has been torn down, erased like it never existed, but I still need to go back. Until I do, I don't think I can move on.

So we came down to the planet and Commander Faldon gave me the day off. It didn't take long to convince the officer in charge of the motor pool to lend me a Warthog, and then I was off. The trip to the base wasn't quite as...rough as it used to be, but that's probably because I've been receiving driving lessons alongside my drop-pod training. I'll never know what our instructors didn't seem to think that we should learn how to operate vehicles beyond the basics, but I'm sure they had their reasons. Most likely they didn't want to give us too much independence.

I almost missed the turn off the road that led to the base, because it was gone. If it hadn't been for my memory and Vincent's map, I never would have guessed that there had been anything beyond that point other than forest. Luckily, the Warthog could still handle the terrain, so I drove on out. However, when I reached the field I knew that whatever I'd come for, I wasn't going to get.

As Eric had warned, the base was gone. However, I'd expected traces to be left behind, at least. Someone that hadn't grown up on the base couldn't possibly comprehend just how massive it was, not in size but in presence. The place had been a slumbering monster, more than capable of tearing everyone to shreds but momentarily satisfied and sedate. It's breathing could be heard in the beat of the people that lived within it, running and training to a steady cadence. Why normal UNSC soldiers were trained in the same base that held the Spartans, I may never know, but they'd been here too. Their presence grounded the place into reality. In many ways, it was the people outside my family that made the place feel like an actual home; a village to replace the one I'd been taken from.

It was all gone. Not just the buildings, but the fences and roads and foundations. Anything that would hint that the field had ever been anything other than empty had been stripped away. Even the carefully maintained lawns and river had been destroyed, leaving behind their wilder shadows. The sight was just...wrong. So wrong. I was supposed to be coming home, and all I found was an empty waste land.

I'm not sure how long I sat in that Warthog, staring at the field. For a while I thought it would be a good idea to get out and walk around, but I couldn't get my body to agree with that plan, so I stayed where I was. Even closing my eyes and trying to envision the place as it had been didn't help. It only increased the ache in my heart when I finally had to look again. So for the longest time, I sat there with nothing but the empty wind. It's such a strange feeling; a loneliness I wasn't expecting and don't think I've ever really dealt with before. Thus the journal, trying to capture the moment so I can look back later and possible wrap my mind around this sensation I can barely comprehend right now. But then again, can anyone really come to terms with their entire past being erased? I truly have no home now. Nowhere that I can call mine, no where to go back to. All I can do is move forward, which is something I'm not entirely sure I can manage alone.

There's a lot of things I'm sorry for. The war, my blood family, the ODSTs that don't come back, the Insurrectionists that feel they have to fight, the children that have to grow up far too fast. But I think I'm sorriest for myself, because I'm still alone and I can't find a way to change that. I'd never realized just how much I'd come to rely on my family until I couldn't shake them. It's so different from when I simply refused to talk. At least they were still there back then. I wasn't alone, just independent. That was something I took for granted, and now I was paying the price. One I'm probably going to pay forever.

Enough, there's nothing for me here. It's time to go back.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ I'm Sorry _by John Denver._


	31. For Good

Time: 0430\

August 17, 2528\

Aboard the UNSC _Excalibur_

When I was really little, my grandmother would tell my sister and me that every person we knew was in our lives for a reason. They brought lessons we needed to learn, or helped us grow in ways we couldn't manage on our own. The wonderful thing was that we did the same for others. It was always a fun story, but I was never sure I believed her. I certainly didn't want to admit that there was a reason Halsey had come into my life. At least, not a positive reason. Still, as time passes and I can think back on those eight years with less hostility, I find truth in my grandmother's words. There is no doubt that I am who I am because of everyone in the program. Yet I can't help but feel that the changes that are closest to my heart were made by you.

Leaving you behind was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I've lain awake at night, regretting what happened to rip me out of everyone's life, but my heart aches just a little bit more when I think about you. I want to call and explain so badly, its absurd. Vincent has to pull me up short every time I try to contact you, which is usually a couple times a month. Even knowing he's right, I still want to hate him for it. But you'd thank him, wouldn't you? After all, he's protecting me, and you're all for that.

Before I go any farther, I have to apologize for everything. Please believe me when I tell you that this wasn't my plan. I would not be surprised if you blamed me, though I would like to point out that I'm hardly alone in the fault department. Funny, then, that the reasons don't seem to matter anymore. I can honestly say I would welcome the blame, if it meant being able to reconcile with you.

But that's just wishful thinking, isn't it? I always thought that you would be a permanent part of my life. And yes, I know the argument can be made that you will be. Everything I am now came from you, but that wasn't what I meant and you know it. Its just...I know there was some grand plan in place for me, and I blew it. It wasn't my choice to ruin everything. Things just happened, and they suck, but the past can't be changed. So it's up to you now. You have to be the one to continue the mission I can't complete anymore. Heh, that's something I probably _wouldn't_ tell you, even if I could. You'd just scowl and insult me for an hour before kicking my ass. For some reason, I don't believe my augmentations would help me.

A week ago I was in a fire fight with Covenant. One of those damn Needle rounds exploded closer to me than I'd thought and I was hit right in the head with a very large piece of concrete. The doctors couldn't figure out why I wasn't dead and I wasn't about to let them close to me with their x-ray machines, but I still had a concussion and one hell of a headache. Eric actually escorted me back to my quarters and sat beside me through the night, checking on me as I slept. He later informed me that I had said your name several times, and kept asking if I'd made a difference.

I wonder if I did. Would you tell me? Did I change you like you changed me? Even though I was just a tiny part of your life, a passing moment surrounded by millions more, was I able to do what my grandmother had always said? I want to believe that I helped you as much as I was helped, but I have no evidence and you always said not to assume. What was that phrase you loved to throw around? 'To assume is to make an ass out of you and me'? Yeah, that sounds about right.

Gah, seriously? An entire page dedicated to my whining and dithering about. I wonder what you would think if you could see this. Not that it matters, since you won't, but...argh! I'm doing it again! This whole damn journal is turning me into a pathetic excuse of a soldier. Yes, it makes me more emotionally stable and yes, it makes me not blow up and start shooting in the halls so Eric will be happy, but I sound like a child! That's it, I need to focus. No more dithering, no more questions that will never be answered. I'm just going to be blunt and move on.

You changed me. Maybe not in the way you were intending or planned, but it is change all the same. I'm not sure anyone can say if the difference is for better or worse, though I personally believe it was positive, but it happened. That's what I would tell you, I think, if I ever got the chance to talk to you one more time. Because I knew you, I have been changed for good. Useless musings included.

Thank you, Chief Mendez.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ For Good _from Wicked._


	32. Lullaby

Time: 0200\

November 06, 2528\

Aboard the UNSC _Excalibur_

War. It's always been a part of my life. It was in my past, it is in my future, and it takes up every second of my present. Over the years, I've heard more about war than most people know exists. I've been told about the glory of battle, the agony of defeat, the cheering crowds of the victors, the wail of the lost. Despite all that, war was something that remained abstract. An idea, or maybe an ideal, but still purely mental. Spartan training brought war into the real world, but it never touched me. Yes, I took a life, but it was an accident. I hadn't plotted the death before hand, so I could excuse myself. Then in Corbulo, the war crept closer, but any touch was glancing at best. It took hardly any focus to put all thoughts of conflict out of my mind so I could rest in ease.

That's not true anymore. Covenant has forced war into the very center of my life, and it's nothing like I've been told. There's no silver lining, no glory. It's a dark and dirty mass that stains everything it touches, resisting all attempts to scrape it away. Every battle, every conflict, makes it grow larger and it starts creeping into parts of my life that it shouldn't exist. No matter where I look, I see the effects of war. Armor, weapons, I'm surrounded every second by reminders of what's happening. Even my sleep is tainted, leaving me to wake in the middle of the night in utter fear and a scream lodged firmly in my chest.

How can people glorify evil like a war? How can they speak of it as something to be cherished or coveted? They rise up those that they consider to be heroes, insisting that they are somehow above the mess of death and pain, but how do the heroes feel? Can they fall asleep easily at night? Are they free of nightmares? I don't know. I wish I did. If they can live a life free of fear and memories, I want to talk to them and learn their secrets. But more than that, I want to know how to free myself from agony that tracks my every living moment.

Why don't people talk about how much of a monster war is? It's like an entity all by itself, hungry and malevolent. Even when you walk away from a battle alive, it stalks you. No matter where you go, it's right there, waiting for the right time to devour you. You can't run, you can't escape. Even desertion doesn't help, because that darkness is always in the back of your mind, following you around. Those memories are never going to go away; that feeling of being watched and hunted will never stop. It can fade, and it probably will, but it's always there.

It's there every time someone sneaks up behind you and claps you on the back. It's there every time you're sound asleep and there's an unexpected noise in your room. It's there every time you hear something that sounds like a gunshot or grenade. You can train yourself not to jump, not to react, not to instantly go into battle mode, but that doesn't change the fact that _it is there_. It shadows everything you do, every move you make, every decision you have.

And the worst part is that it's something no one that hasn't experienced it will understand. The only people that will ever know what it's like to jump at shadows are the ones that are just as messed up as you. Maybe they can hide it better, maybe they can gloss over everything, but it doesn't change anything. Sometimes knowing that the only people that understand your pain are the people that suffer under it too, hurts just as much as the torture of war.

I can't believe how naïve I was when I was younger! Even with all that time in training and that year in Corbulo, I didn't understand what war meant. There was a time I thought killing that one man was the worst thing that could happen to me. Now I know what it's like to sit on a Pelican, covered in the blood of multiple people. Covenant, Insurrectionist, UNSC, I'm learning that blood is blood, no matter where it came from or what color it is.

Honestly, I think the hardest death I've had to deal with is the death of innocence. It's all around me, in every face I see. Goodness knows, I had to go through it myself. The worst, though, is when I see that look on civilians. Children that should still be thinking the world is a bright and wonderful place are learning just how cold and dark it actually is. There's no room for the stories anymore; there's no lullaby's to sing. Everything's too dark for that.

It's too dark for hope.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Lullaby _by Hypnogaja._


	33. Hello

Time: 0600\

February 02, 2529\

Aboard the UNSC _Excalibur_

When Eric promoted me to Squad Leader, I hadn't really thought about what it would mean. The increase in responsibilities hadn't bothered me at all, but I'm starting to think I hadn't understood everything the position entailed. Filing paperwork and handling requests for each ODST under my command is it's own special version of torture, and one that I bemoaned for several weeks. Every time I did, Eric would give me this strange look and said that the day would come when I'd value all that paper shuffling; that someday I'd have less to fill out and it would hurt. I thought he was exaggerating.

Now I wish he was.

It was a routine battle, against Insurrectionists for a change. My squad wasn't the first to drop; we were reinforcements to the main body of soldiers. I was in charge of ten soldiers, all of which had joined the ODSTs the same time I did. The only reason Eric trusted me with them was because of my background, and I thought I'd been doing good. No one had any complaints about me and they'd learned to follow my directions in combat simulations. Really, for a situation like ours, it was the most anyone could ask for.

So we dropped, landing close enough to the front lines to reach the fighting quickly. Our landing was close to perfect; somehow we'd managed to stay in formation the entire way down. The hatches of the pods opened and we jumped out, ready to fight. What we hadn't been ready for was the enemy waiting for us. They opened fire and we dropped, returning the favor every chance we got. It was only a few seconds before the other ODSTs came to our rescue; they'd noticed the Insurrectionists moving and had followed as fast as they could.

Once the enemy had been driven off, I got back to my feet and called for my men to sound off. Nine voices chimed back, confirming they were alive and uninjured, but as we waited for the tenth everything was silent. I called for Martin, the soldier that hadn't sounded off, and got no response. Hoping her COM had been damaged somehow, I trotted over to her pod. Not sure what I was expecting, but blood splattered all over the ground and a dead body wasn't it.

I froze; I admit it. I stared for far too long, trying to understand what I was seeing. We'd done everything right, so how could Marin be dead? As I stared, I remembered what Mendez had told us. "It is possible to make no mistakes and still lose." It felt like one of those times.

We didn't have time to mourn. Honestly, we didn't have time for anything other than forming up and jogging up to the main battle. If we were a little more violently and angry than we'd been in training, no one mentioned it. In fact, during lulls other Squad Leaders would come and talk to me, each with a quiet delicacy that I wasn't used to. My remaining men were getting the same treatment from their buddies. The cold in my chest grew when I realized everyone was acting this way because they'd all been through it before. We were the new ODSTs, the newcomers to this nightmare. Worst of all, the day would come when there'd be a new group of new soldiers, and we'd be playing to role of supporters.

The battle was won, though it felt hollow. Just like John had noted all those years ago. How can I win and lose at the same time? My chest felt empty as I climbed on to the Pelican, despite being surrounded by several soldiers that were simply happy to be getting back into space. I'll never understand how people can be comfortable in such a dangerous place, but this time I could ignore them. My mind kept circling back to the body we'd left behind to be collected when we had more time and resources. All I had was Martin's dog tags, clicking quietly as my grip tightened and loosened. Protocol demanded that I turn them over to Graves Registration, but my mind was rebelling at the thought. I couldn't let go of all I had left.

When we got back to the ship, there was more paperwork waiting for me. I had to fill out battle reports, send requests to Supply, coordinate with medical to get personnel files updated. All routine paperwork, with specific forms for each job that I kept on hand. With each form I had to handle, I'd fill out nine before reaching for a tenth copy and suddenly pulling back. I didn't have ten men anymore, which means less paperwork. Turns out Eric was right. It does hurt.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Hello _by Evanescence._


	34. Impossible

Time: 1930\

August 14, 2529\

Aboard the UNSC _Excalibur_

And the chaos goes on. And on and on and on. I can't remember exactly who said it, but I remember reading a history text in Deja's class that had the quote, 'War is an organized bore.' When I'd read that, I'd thought the person was insane. What could possibly be boring about war? It's combat; fighting for your life and the life of your friends and family. Now I'm here, counting how many holes are in a single sheet of ventilation grating to determine if it's a uniform number throughout or just an average. This is after I'd unravelled seven towels to determine if the weave was identical throughout, despite being from different brands. Eric had just about screamed when he saw the mess I'd made of my quarters with that experiment. I would like to point out, though, that my roommates never complain about me. Maybe because they're afraid of speaking against the Commander's daughter, but still.

It's not always like this, of course. I've been engaged in nine different engagements in the last six months, and am pleased to announce that I haven't lost any more men. The Chief Medical Officer, on the other hand, has developed a worrying twitch over his left eye. It seems to appear only when I walk into the infirmary...or am carried in in some fashion. He's also stated that it's a very damn good thing that he can't bill me for his services, or I'd be so far in debt I'd have to file for bankruptcy. I'd argue, but it's kinda hard when I realize that I've spent more time under his care then I have giving reports or debriefing my team.

Speaking of my team, Eric is very proud of how I've been working with them. Apparently, it's not normal for a Squad Leader to train with their subordinates, which is downright stupid, so far as I'm concerned. Mendez had always insisted we lead by example; that's why he was with us every damn day of our training, doing exactly the same as he demanded of us. He told us to run, he ran. He told us to do five hundred pushups, he did five hundred pushups. That's how a leader is supposed to be. The rest of the UNSC doesn't seem to be on the same page. Luckily, for everyone involved, no one has been complaining about my work with the team, so I'm allowed to continue.

Not that it matters, but the rumors of my ring's origin continue, getting more ridiculous with every cycle. Still, it's interesting to hear how observant some of the ODSTs are. One rumor, that I was married to a noble from Earth and assigned to the ODSTs because his family doesn't approve of his marrying a commoner, was based on the observation that I can act like I'm from the upperclass echelon and I understand the nuances of that culture that most people never grasp. Grandfather will be pleased to know that all those damn lessons in manners weren't wasted after all. Or...he _would_ be pleased...if I could ever tell him.

Right, not thinking about that. Back on topic.

The funniest part of people knowing I'm married is the various pieces of advise I've been receiving. One older female actually gave me a lecture about how I needed to be cautious in love. Kept insisting that men were animals and I couldn't let them woo me with a crooked smile and a big 'package'. I just about spit my coffee all over her when I mentally translated _that_ euphemism. I think Eric is just about ready to break down and order an AI to comply a list of sexual euphemisms for me to study so I stop getting taken by surprise. Vincent's no help; he gets a perverse amusement from my reactions. Gah, off topic again!

I could have explained to the ODST that she had nothing to worry about. If John _had_ tried to lure me with such purely physical tactics, I would have happily beat him into the ground, and I'm sure my sisters would have helped. Though I'm still not entirely sure what convinced him that marrying me was a good idea...I guess I'll never know. Not like I can just pop onto the COM and ask. Argh, here I go again! That's it back to counting.

If anyone ever reads this journal, in the case of my death or something equally drastic that would result in my not shooting you for even thinking of invading my privacy, do me a favor. Go to the Spartans, if there's any left, and tell them all the things I've written here. Tell them all, I know now; all we had is gone. Tell them I was happy. Tell them I loved them. Loved. Maybe then I'll believe it.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Impossible _by Newsboys._


	35. Across the Line

Time: 0912/

November 03, 2529/

Aboard the UNSC _Excalibur_

Everyone has a line that they will not cross, and that line is different for every person. I will kill anyone that threatens that which I am charged with protecting, but I will never raise a hand against my siblings, blood or otherwise. Other soldiers may reach their line sooner or later than that point, and some might have very different lines. These differences don't make anyone right or wrong. They're all equal. That is something I've had to come to terms with over the last couple years.

Doesn't mean I have to like it.

The hardest part is not knowing where everyone else's line is. I push my men hard; I don't deny it. We have the highest efficiency rating of any other squad in the UNSC, and we're proud of it. These men have made me miss my siblings a little less because they see how hard I push myself and try to match it. That's a lot to live up to, and they do it wonderfully. But no matter how much we may all wish it was different, they have their lines. Every one of them has that limit that they cannot be pushed beyond without horrible consequences. Most times, I feel like I'm the last person to know just how hard I can drive them before they shatter.

This time...I feel like he didn't know either.

Corporal Simmons was a good soldier. His father had been an ODST and Simmons was certainly living up to that legacy. He worked his ass off to get assigned to my squad and once he made it he quickly left everyone else in the dust. Even I had to start upping my game to keep pace with his growth. He was the pride of the corps and even Eric enjoyed showing him off to the other branches. When I saw how Simmons seemed to thrive on the attention, I let him do what he wanted. As far as I was concerned, he'd earned it. But that started changing a couple months ago. I began to notice how Simmons would always look exhausted, though I knew he wasn't breaking curfew. His work slowly started to degrade, though at a rate so gradual I can't pinpoint exactly when it started. He became less social, though no less driven on the training courts and on missions.

Simmons didn't show up to formation this morning.

He's _never_ missed a formation, even when he was sick or injured and really shouldn't have come, so I quickly alerted the lieutenant of his absence. However, we have a new ElTee, so he disregarded my concerns and said we'd locate Simmons later. My gut said otherwise, though, so I did something that would have gotten me shot in the program. I left formation. I knew everyone was staring and I knew Eric wouldn't be able to let me off without punishment, but my head was screaming and I had that sick feeling in my gut and I knew I had to reach Simmons. So I ran through the halls, sprinting faster than I'd ever allowed anyone to see me run before, though still not as fast as I could.

I had just reached the quarter's hall when I heard the gunshot. Everyone scattered; I couldn't blame them but I ran right in...and froze. I've killed more than my fair share of humans. I'm no stranger to blood and bodies. But that red seemed different. Darker. More accusing. It stuck to everything as I tried to turn the body over, hoping I'd be able to disprove what I already knew.

I couldn't.

Simmons killed himself a week ago, and I can still look down and see his blood on my hands. His voice echoes in my head, sharp and accusing in ways he had never actually been in life. We sent the body back to his family for burial purposes, but when we went over his will we learned that he'd left his diary for me. It was...educational. He'd always wanted to be the best, but the stress of achieving that dream had been suffocating him. Every day he'd waited for someone to see the toll we were piling on him, but no one did. Not even me. So he struggled with all that weight, too proud to say anything, until he just couldn't anymore. In the end, the way to relieve the stress was found in a single bullet. So I'm changing how I run my squad. I'm still pushing, but every soldier has to take one day a week off to rest. They're talking to therapists, who have already informed me that Simmons simply reached his line first. Others weren't far off. And they're discovering where their lines are, so that I never push one over again. It's all I can do.

For Simmons.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Across the Line _by Linkin Park._


	36. Dare You to Move

Time: 2100\

March 20 2530\

Earth

I'm on Earth. It's sort of...surreal. I haven't been here since I was five, for that damn ball Grandfather Terry insisted I attend. Granted, I spent most of my time complaining about the dress I had to wear and running away to play in the ocean, but I don't remember this world being so...small. It just feels like I've outgrown this world, which is really sad when I think about it. This is a planet I've only been to three times in my life, the birth place of the human race, and I've outgrown it. Space, with all it's darkness and danger, is more of a home to me than this little blue and green marble.

Not that I've had much time to wax poetic about how I feel on this lump of rock. Eric sent me to attend a special training course that is mandatory for all ODSTs that are thinking about becoming officers. This begs the question of why I'm here; I have no interest or intention to become an officer. Besides putting me directly to ONI's attention, such a promotion would also include a significant increase in paperwork and responsibilities. I can handle both, sure, but it would cut into the time I could actually spend on battlefields, doing the work that I was made to do. Eric understands that, but most other UNSC members don't. They get weird when I tell them that I'm happy as a Squad Leader and see no reason to go any higher.

Hmm...now that I'm thinking about it, maybe that's why Eric sent me. This training makes it look like I'm thinking of doing more.

Back to the training; it's actually been a bit of a challenge. Not the work, so much, but rather the holding back and not revealing what I can do. The ODSTs on the ship have gotten used to some of my quieter enhancements. It's just a fact of life to them that I'm always a bit faster and a bit stronger than they are. Denial and ignorance are certainly powerful tools, and I should utilize them in others more often. Down on the planet, however, I'm being faced with soldiers that have never worked with me. To them, my speed and strength aren't natural parts of being me. They'd note the unnaturalness of my ability in seconds, so I'm having to scale everything back. However, that is confusing the ODSTs that came down for the training with me. They know what I'm capable of, or at least they think they do, and they know I'm not giving it my 'all'. So really, I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't.

And, just in case that wasn't enough, this training course is observed. That, I don't mind, but every session has it's own set of six officers that watch all of us get the crap beat out of us. This session has four officers I don't know from a hole in the wall, but the last two are Admiral Lord Terrance Hood and Admiral Margaret Parangosky.

Yep, you read correctly. I am being observed by one of the highest ranked Admirals in the UNSC fleet and the Head of ONI, aka: my grandparents. Never in my life have I been more thankful for the opaque setting on my helmet. I'm also thinking I must have stolen some of John's luck, because the few times I'm not allowed to wear my helmet, such as private time in the barracks or meal time, the observing officers aren't present. Those times are when they get their own work done, so they don't give us a passing thought. Also, to the best of my knowledge, our photos are not included in the files that the officers are given to make notes in as they watch. Seriously, this is some John level luck.

It's such a strange feeling, knowing how close my oldest life is. I have to remind myself again and again that I can't just run up to them and tell them the truth. Grandfather would be ecstatic, I don't doubt, but Grandmother...she's so different now. The Grandmother Margaret I remember was harsh outside the family, yes, but there was something warm about her that anyone could feel...except for the person that actively pissed her off. That warmth is gone now, and what little intel I've been able to gather insists that it vanished when her youngest granddaughter died from an unknown illness. From that point on, Admiral Parangosky has been the Ice Queen to everyone, including her own family. If I come out and tell her the truth, about what happened to me and how I escaped, how will she react? Will she welcome me back? Or will she execute me as a deserter? I can't help but feel responsible for her change, even though I know it's not my fault. I didn't ask to be kidnapped or turned into a living weapon, nor did I ask for a clone to be left in my place. I keep daring myself to get up and move to her.

But I never do.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Dare You to Move _by Switchfoot._


	37. Echo Echo

Time: 1842/

August 15, 2530/

Aboard the UNSC _Excalibur_

I never thought I'd say this, but I feel as though I'm almost used to missing John. I'm not happy about it; this persistent ache in my chest is the worse feeling I've ever suffered. In some ways...a lot of ways, it was easier to lose my entire family than to lose him. But it's an ache that I've learned to accept as part of who I am anymore. There's nothing I can do to lessen the longing or the constant questions of if I'm doing the wrong thing. So yes, the loss of John is steady.

It's the loss of everyone else that hurts like a dagger.

Being an ODST is much harder than I'd ever anticipated, and there's not a ton of time to spend thinking back on what my life had once been like. That's how I like it, honestly. Because when those times do come, it's like being struck by a wrecking ball. It's the sudden realization that I don't remember what Fred smells like anymore. It's the moment I remember how Luna's face would light up whenever she saw wild blue berries. It's when my heart skips a beat as I see a star chart and remember the stories Fred would make up for constellations. It's the tear when I hear a British accent and try to compare it to Kelly.

I was dirt-side today, on a training exercise with the squad, and we came across this small canyon. Of course, everyone decided to have fun by yelling stuff and listening to the echoes that would drift back to us. I had to smack a couple of the boys for being immature, but it was mostly good fun. At least...it was until it was my time to yell something. As I stood on the edge and just stared out at everything, I remembered a mission with the Spartans that wasn't all that different. We'd found a canyon that could have been this one's twin and had yelled all sorts of things. But...we never really heard any echoes. Not because they weren't there but because we were all so busy laughing and having a fun time that we covered them up without meaning to. Really...it was the echoes of the laughter that I heard the most, and the sound that has really stuck with me over these years.

This time was...different. Everyone went quiet as I stood there, staring into a void almost more dangerous than the one in space. I tried closing my eyes, desperately reaching for the laughter that I could still recall, but when I screamed my name into the void, my voice was the only one that echoed back.

I don't think anything has broken me as effortlessly as that solitary sound.

We left the canyon soon after. No one knew what was wrong with me, but it was clear to all of them that something was bothering me. If they'd known how loud my heart was screaming or how badly my hands were shaking, they might have been worried. As it was, they just chalked it up to another quirk of mine and left me to my own devices. I'm not as grateful as I probably should be.

I knew that living outside the program would be hard. I knew that I was choosing the lesser of two evils but that made it no less evil itself. I knew that I would spend the majority of my life hiding who I am from everyone and almost religiously avoiding those that I would kill to see for a fraction of a second. None of this is new, but in these quiet moments when my brain has a moment to think, the realization that I'm alone hits anew again and again. Time doesn't seem to soften the blow and there's no way to know when a new attack is coming around the corner. All I can do is grit my teeth and try to bare it...but sometimes I can't. Sometimes I fall to the floor and cry in a corner, and I'm not even sure who is crying. The Spartan? The little girl? The ODST? All of them? None?

The Spartans were chosen because of our physical and mental capabilities. I was given solo missions first because I was able to stand on my own the longest. But even I can't go at life completely alone. I need support, but I can't get any without revealing my secrets and that will end in nothing other than death. Honestly, it seems that death is all I can expect from life, and if there's a more depressing thought out there, I don't want to know it.

But there's hope, I guess. A silver lining. Because even though the echo of my voice is still dancing around in my head, the echo of my siblings laughter is rooted deep in my mind. My voice will fade in time; I'm sure of that. The laughter, though, will last much longer. And when my own voice gets too loud, I can just look for the laughter. It will be there. I must believe that. I must...

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Echo _by Jason Walker. Yes, there are two chapters that use the same song. I had the song on my playlist twice and didn't realize until I'd written both out. Sorry._


	38. Room of Angels

Time: 2100\

March 01, 2531\

Aboard ODST Command Ship, UNSC _Excalibur_

Of all the things on my list of 'Shit I Really Hope Doesn't Happen', this has to be near the damn top of the list. No, scratch that, this is the _very_ top of the list. Numero Uno. Flashing lights and warning sirens all engaged. The ultimate 'ANYTHING BUT THIS!'

So, of course, it happened.

Now, for anyone insane enough to actually read this damn journal, allow me to explain. My squad was out on a supply run to Mars; perfectly normal job for us since Eric tries to balance all companies between fighting and 'safe' missions. They're exceedingly boring, but my men do need rest on occasion, so I always accept this jobs without complaint. Besides, it gets us off the main ship for a day, so my cabin fever doesn't become unbearable. We really weren't made for a sedentary life.

We get to Mars, load up most of our supplies, when ONI suddenly contacts me and informs me that my team has been temporarily reassigned so that they could transport a scientist from Mars to Earth. I didn't even bother asking why the scientist couldn't grab regular military or even public transport; Mars was close enough that the trip would only take a couple of hours. If I had asked, I probably would have been fed some line about something being top-secret and security risks and blah-blah-blah. I heard enough of that crap from Grandmother, thank you very much. Still, it would have been too much of a headache to refuse the order, so I got the location where we were to pick up the scientist, told the boys about the change in plans, then headed out to grab this VIP. There was no one visible at the RV point when we arrived, so we landed and I strode off the ship, two seconds away from pulling my helmet off and throwing it in a mud puddle. That's when she stepped out of the shed I'd barely noticed. Our scientist.

Doctor Catherine Halsey.

For a long, horrible moment, I was ready to kill her. Legit, death-by-decapitation kill her. It's not like my squad would have been able to stop me. All good men, to be sure, but they weren't Spartans. They weren't as fast, they weren't as strong, and they didn't mean a fraction as much to me. So the temptation was certainly there. She should be thanking whatever deity has been watching over her that I remembered my training, Mendez's training, and held my ground. Welcomed her aboard shortly and tersely, nearly kicked her up the ramp when she wouldn't move fast enough, and harshly ordered her to buckle up so we could leave.

She talked back, because what else would she ever do, but reluctantly obeyed and we were en route within a couple minutes. My soldiers weren't sure what to do with her, that was obvious, but one hesitantly decided to try for small-talk. I would have told him he was wasting his breath but, for some reason, she answered. Well, she answered some of his topics. Some things she just stayed silent on, and he learned to move on pretty fast. But I just about had a heart-attack when he asked if she had any kids. Worse, her answer was 'A daughter. We don't speak often; she chose to stay with her father when we separated. But it's fine; my work kept me too busy to be a parent.'

A daughter. She had a fucking daughter. I racked my brain, trying to figure out when the hell we had all missed Halsey being a mom. To my knowledge, she'd never even hinted that there was another child in her life. Who the hell could it be?!

Not that it mattered. We finished our journey and dropped the Doctor off at ONI headquarters. She aimed an acidic comment towards me as she disembarked and I nearly bit my tongue off as I forced myself to not reply. Somedays I wondered if she knew that she was the one person I could honestly claim to despise. If she were to die right before me, I wouldn't care enough to cry. Hell, I'd probably be celebrating. But I couldn't say any of that without giving myself away, so I grit my teeth and held my temper until she was off my ship and we were leaving Earth.

It's been hours now, and my hands are still shaking in rage. Eric ordered me to my room when we got back to the ship, trying to ensure that I didn't lash out against an innocent. A thoughtful gesture I can't appreciate right now. I just...I _hate_ her! I don't want to; hate is poisonous to the hater, not the hated, but I hate her. God forgive me, I hate her.

* * *

 _Babble Time: The song used in this chapter is_ Room of Angels _from the Silent Hill...movie or game? I'm not sure, got it from one of the soundtracks._


	39. Lasky: Everything I Didn

25310414

Excerpt from Thomas Lasky's Personal Journal:

When Corbulo was attacked, I knew that things would never be the same. The arrival of the aliens changed the very fabric of the human psyche. We couldn't pretend that we were alone in the universe any longer, and we couldn't think that we were superior. In a single day, we went from being the dominate species in the galaxy to cowering prey. It was painful and jarring and destroyed confidence that has been slow to build back up. Right now, we're getting by on shiploads of hope and the shoulders of a few heroes. Some of those heroes are Spartans, I must admit, but they're not the only ones. In fact, one of the biggest heroes being talked about right now is Kaine Faldon.

My heart was in my throat as we watched the holo-vids about the battle. Covenant were pushing back the UNSC forces and we were about to lose the capital of the planet when suddenly all of these ODSTs start dropping in. I remember that the screen was displaying the first pod to land and when the hatch shot off and the soldier stepped out, I just...knew. Even with the low quality of the security camera that we were watching from, I recognized the slice of blue across the uniform. It was Kaine; she was the only one that wore that antique style armor.

Just like that, the entire tide of the battle switched. Kaine rallied the UNSC forces and led a charge like I've never seen before. It was amazing! She ran directly into enemy fire, barely using cover and just seeming to dance through the plasma and needles. The sight must have been just as inspiring in person, because everyone followed her. Even some of the civilians that had been stranded picked up rifles and joined in. The aliens never knew what hit them; they broke and ran like they've never done before. Everyone on the ship was cheering and yelling and celebrating, and I could only stare at the screen as that damn female took off her helmet and wiped some blood off her face before gathering her ODSTs and following the enemy. She's strong, she's brave, she'd intelligent, she's kind, she's charismatic, she's a hero...

...she's a damn idiot.

Sometimes I just want to reach into the screen, grab her, and shake her senseless. She has _no_ respect for the fact that she is mortal! What everyone else calls bravery on the battlefield I call a damn death wish. And she doesn't stop! No, victory isn't enough for her. The moment the battle is over, she's off to find a new one. A week doesn't go by when she isn't mentioned in the military news, though most battles are just noted in passing. That doesn't stop her battle counter from rising; at this rate she'd be eligible for discharge based on number of battles before the year is over. And just in case that's not enough of a reason to be irritated at her, yesterday I heard a medic talking about how his ODST friend had to sedate her just to get her down for a couple hours of sleep. They spoke like they were impressed by her dedication, but can't they see?! She's _killing_ herself!

And this is nothing new! I didn't pay very much attention to her back at CAMS, but I heard stories. Disregarding her limits is perfectly normal. Doing things she should never do is her SOP. Senior cadets would swear she never slept, Colonel Mehaffey was always muttering about how she used the practice fields at all hours of the day and night, and there wasn't a single training exercise any teacher could create that would stump her for more than a couple hours. Hell, was she raised to think she's invincible? Or expendable?! Is that the big secret?!

God, if I could get two minutes alone with her, I'd have so much to say. I'd berate her for acting like her life is worth less than the dirt she's fighting on. Maybe I'd bring up how even Spartans need time to rest and heal and she's not an exception to the damn rule. I'd take the Naval Officers Handbook and shove it down her throat; maybe then she'd follow rules and procedures instead of acting like they're challenges that she's supposed to beat. And then I'd...

...give her a hug. Tell her it's okay to not be the best. That she doesn't have to be the one to win this war for the species. See, the thing about heroes is they tend to forget that the war doesn't rest on their shoulders alone. They can share the burden with us and things will go so much faster and smoother. I'd want to tell her that, if I ever got the chance.

That, and that she is my hero too.

* * *

 _Babble Time: The song used in this chapter is_ Everything I Didn't Say _by 5 Seconds of Summer._


	40. Dreams to Dream

Time: 2100\

June 9, 2531\

Aboard the UNSC _Excalibur_

The human mind is a very strange thing. Sometimes the most random things can trigger memories that have lain forgotten for years, and yet they come back with such stunning clarity that you feel as though they had just happened a few seconds ago. I'm sitting here, listening to a group of ODSTs butcher Shakespeare, when one of them suddenly says, "Perchance to dream". Suddenly, _BAM_ , I'm four-years-old, laying before the fireplace and listening as Grandfather reads to me from his Dream Journal. And I say, yet again, that for such an old man, he sure has some pretty strange dreams.

Grandfather loved that journal. He would write in it every morning, scrambling to record his subconscious adventures before they faded from his memories. Mother would always tease him about it, and while Father fully supported such dedicated information recording he could never fully understand why anyone cared so much about dreams. Lillian always thought it was stupid, whereas Grandmother treated it more like a fond quirk of his. I was the only one that ever actually asked him about what he was doing, and I loved it when he read to me. Sometimes, after I had a nightmare, I'd COM him and have him read to me from the journal. There were even times when I'd experience the dreams myself if I fell asleep as he read.

I remember, one time I asked him why he cared so much about dreams. He got this strange look on his face, like he was staring at something far away and trying to figure out what it was. 'I'm not sure,' he eventually said, voice nearly as distant as his gaze. 'Maybe it's nothing more than a folly from my youth. But there's a power in dreams, Klare. A power that cannot be ignored by even the most devoted of scientists, like your father. Dreams have a way of grabbing us and changing our lives, for better or for worse. Some of the greatest triumphs of human kind has come from dreams. So, too, have some of our darkest moments. It's not the dream that decides what is good or bad, though. Everything depends on what you do in response to the dream. Like your Grandmother. She dreams of unifying the UNSC once again. That's a good dream, but she could make it come true in multiple ways. Some are better than others, and in the end, only history will be able to say if she made the right call. How strange a thought, that this entire war is being waged because people have different dreams.'

He looked down at the journal at that point, a small smile on his face. 'In the dark of the night, when the world goes wrong, I can still make it right. I can see so far, in my dreams. I can see futures that I'll never actually live to see. I'll follow me dreams until they come true.' Then he looked at me and the smile grew. 'There's a world inside, Klare, no one else ever sees. You will go so far in my dreams. Somewhere in my dreams, your dreams will come true. What more could I possibly ask for?' I had no answer for him then, and I still have none. There's a part of me that is bitter. A part that wonders if he'd have been so positive about dreams if he'd known what would happen to me. It's human nature to feel bitter or betrayed, even if those feelings are not truly justified.

But for the most part, that memory gives me a strange sense of hope. Grandfather always found dreams to be so wonderful and beautiful, and it's difficult to see them any other way. And I can certainly understand a little better, now. After all, the Spartan project was Halsey's dream and it led her to do things most humans would never consider. Then again... _marrying_ John hadn't really been a dream of mine, but being important to him had been. My dream was no better or worse than Halsey's; it's what we chose to do in pursuit of them that decided if we were in the right or wrong.

Maybe I'll start a Dream Journal of my own. I don't dream very often, but when I do, it might be nice to record it all and go back later. Get a glimpse into the world of my subconscious; that world that no one ever sees, as Grandfather put it. Find that shining star that he said was always waiting for me whenever I closed my eyes. Sometimes I feel like I can reach out and touch it. Other times, I can't even tell if it's still there. But I want to believe...and maybe that's all that's needed. So I'll start the journal, and maybe someday I'll be able to read it to Grandfather so we can laugh over my crazy adventures. I think that's my latest dream. I just hope he was right and that ever dream comes true eventually, even if it's not quite how we'd thought it would.

To sleep. Perchance to dream.

* * *

 _Babble Time: The song used in this chapter is_ Dreams to Dream _from the movie American Tail: Feival goes West._


	41. Mendez: Every Breath You Take

25310724

Excerpt from Franklin Mendez's Personal Journal:

When Halsey approached me about the Spartan program, I leapt at the offer. Amanda and Josephine were dead, and I wanted to forget that there was a life outside of the military. A training job that would last years was just right. But now I wish I'd looked at the fine print a little closer. It somehow escaped me that the soldiers I would be training were children until they were sitting in front of me.

But I buckled down and did my job. I didn't pull any punches for their age or situation. They were soldiers, and I was determined to treat them as such. Sometimes it was easy, and sometimes it was the hardest thing I've ever done. I'd thought things would get easier as they got older, but no such luck. They weren't just soldiers then, they were _my_ soldiers. Each one was close to my heart, and some were simply...more. They were like my family, little nieces and nephews that I was responsible for.

Except for Klare. From the moment I saw her shake hands with 117, I knew she was something special. Halsey was always disappointed with her and often remarked that she wasn't supposed to have been chosen, but there was something there. The doctor couldn't see it because she isn't a soldier, but it was clear as day to the other trainers and myself.

Some people believe you can make leaders. I disagree. A leader has this...'thing' inside of them. It varies from person to person, but it's always there. It draws others to the leader, makes them listen when they would usually argue. 117 has it, that's why I picked on him the first morning. He was raw and untrained, but in time he learned to harness that innate part of himself, becoming the leader I saw the first day.

Klare was something else. Her 'thing' was softer, didn't shine as bright as 117, but it was also stronger. I've never seen anything like it, but when I saw how 117 was responding to her, I realized they needed her. 117 was the visible leader, the head of the Spartans, but Klare was the heart. Without her, everything fell apart. I saw it often enough when they were separated to know it was fact.

So I started watching the little redhead, even when I thought of her as nothing more than a number. I watched how she interacted with the others, how she acted when alone. In some ways, she wasn't anything like the other children around her, and in others she was absolutely no different. A child soldier that was quieter but no less determined and stubborn. And then she stopped talking and I thought everything would change. It didn't. Oh sure, things shifted, but that was all. She was still the heart, still the center and everyone connected to her even as they followed 117.

That was why I started focusing on Klare, but it went so much deeper in time. She wasn't Jo and could never replace her, but it was like I had a second chance at being a father. Because unlike every other Spartan, my little redhead still needed a parent. In that way alone, Halsey was right, she wasn't supposed to be chosen. That didn't make it bad, though. No leader can stand on their own, and not every soldier is strong enough to stand up while also holding up their leader, but strength can be developed with work. By helping one little girl, I was helping all of my soldiers. So when 117 came to me to ask for my help in asking Klare to marry him, what could I say but yes? Well, that and threatening to hurt him if he ever hurt her. It killed me to not be at their wedding, but when I got that hug in the morning, I knew everything was finally going right.

And then she was dead. No fanfare, no recognition. I put her in the coffin myself, barely able to believe that she was gone. When we shot her into space, I felt like I was losing part of my heart all over again. So when I got a new training offer, I took it. I ran. Again. She would be so disappointed.

...now I'm on Onyx. I just stared into the eyes of children again, and despaired. It's different this time, harder. These children are so angry. Revenge is the only thing that's keeping them going. There's no laughter, no smiles, no friendship. Not really. There is no shortage of heads, but not a single heart to be found. I wonder if this is what the IIs would have been like, if Klare had not been with them. If she had not been around to remind them of their humanity, would they have lost it? I believe so, and that's why I'm fighting with all my strength to keep these kids human too.

After all, it wasn't just the Spartans that Klare had saved. She rescued me, too.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Every Breath You Take _by The Police._


	42. Brothers in Arms

Time: 2000\

August 23, 2531\

On unnamed planet

Had another skirmish with Covenant forces today. That makes every day for two solid months. The scientists keep chattering about some sort of ruins deep in this jungle which is why the aliens haven't glassed the damn planet yet, but I'm almost wishing they'd get it over with. There was barely any human presence on the planet before the damn purple ships arrived and any person that didn't evacuate was killed during the first wave of battle. Yet the UNSC still sent us out to wage war with the enemy with little to protect and no real mission objectives.

Honestly, I think the aliens are as confused by our presence as I am. They certainly weren't expecting resistance and seem almost annoyed by us rather than their usual loathing. Twice I have overheard Elites talking about us; Vincent's translation says that they're referring to us as Imps. Kinda cute, especially when taking into account that they call Spartans 'demons' and Imps are basically just little demons. Always nice to hear that our skills are being acknowledged. It's really too bad that I had to kill the Elites while they were distracted with each other.

If this mission has done nothing else, however, it's given me time to get to know Platoon Seven of the 105th. Eric finally carried through on his threats and he sent in the request for my promotion to Lieutenant. Sadly, it was approved. The orders won't be in for a little while yet, but he's already informed me that I would be assigned to Platoon Seven instead of Platoon Three, where I've served this entire time. Guess I should happy that he left me in the 105th at all. Some of the officers have already complained that I wouldn't grow as an officer properly if I wasn't fully removed from my comfort zone. Luckily for everyone involved, Eric knows better. You can take a soldier out of their company and expect them to adjust. A Spartan trained weapon...not so much.

Hell, the promotion is bad enough. I've only mentioned a million times that I don't want to be in charge. I'm a lone wolf; always have been and my commanding officers thus far have all acknowledged that. How Eric came to the conclusion that I'd be a good candidate to watch over other soldiers is a mystery. And though I'd love nothing more than to fight the orders, I cannot. Not when it's been signed off on by General Aberneth, the leader of the Marines.

So yes, this mission is half annoying the Covenant and half me adjusting to a new Platoon. These men have no idea that in about two weeks I'll be one of their officers. Some just might die of shock when they find out. And though I look forward to that day in a rather sadistic way, I also find myself interested in the group as a whole. Platoon Seven has long had a reputation for being comprised of the 15th ODSTs that take rules and regulations with a grain of salt and I expected to have a million headaches a day with them. What I found was a family dynamic that closely resembled the Spartans, and I don't say that lightly. It's a strange collection of brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, and even the occasional father. There's playful bickering when situation permits, and a fierce loyalty that resulted in my getting a black eye within ten minutes of joining the crew. It certainly wasn't something I expected, but the longer I spend in their strange little world, the more I think I understand.

I've known the term 'brother-in-arms' for as long as I can remember. It was how mom would introduce some of her military friends, it was how Grandfather would talk about some of his dearest comrades, and it was a term that Grandmother would always say with a small sneer. In the Spartan program, I'd never really felt that the phrase applied to me. The others weren't my 'siblings-in-arms'; they were my pure and simple siblings. Brothers and sisters, no matter what blood might say. But these men and women I serve with today...they are the very definition of the term. Just last night, as he was dying, Pvt Collins summed it up perfectly. It was an old song that he'd grown up with, and one I can vaguely recall from before the Spartans. The last verse, though...I can only hope to do his words justice.

 _There's so many different worlds. So many different suns. We have just one world, though we live in different ones. Now the sun's gone to hell and the moon's riding high. Let me bid you farewell. Every man has to die. But it's written in the starlight and every line on your palm. We're fools to make war on our brothers in arms._

* * *

 _Babble Time: The song used in this chapter is_ Brothers in Arms _by Celtic Thunder._


	43. Pieces

Time: 2019/

September 04, 2531/

Aboard the UNSC _Excalibur_

I knew this day would come. I knew it...there was no way it couldn't happen. No matter how good we are, no matter how well they trained us, no matter how fancy the toys...I knew this day would come. That didn't stop me from hoping that today would never be the day, I suppose.

We lost a Spartan.

Information is spotty; the UNSC is not anxious to announce that their perfect soldiers are not, in fact, perfect. They're human, and they can die just like anyone else. I should know. I've seen everyone bleed at least once. But...I don't know. I think even I was starting to believe that we were unbeatable. Invincible. Eternal, in a way.

A foolish dream.

I've been sitting here in my room, trying to wrap my head around everything. Losing soldiers isn't new to me anymore. I've lost more people than I'd ever thought I'd know, if I'm honest. But losing a Spartan...losing a sibling...it's different. I can't explain how, but it is.

It's so strange. I didn't react this way to learning that Sam had died. That had hurt, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle, and I did. I cried for him when I had the time and then I moved on with my life. And Sam was much closer to me than...than she was. So why do I feel so numb now? Why do I feel like my heart is no longer beating; that my limbs are cold and I cannot move? I didn't even feel this sort of pain when I lost soldiers under my command. It just...makes no sense.

Death isn't supposed to make sense. Our instructors made sure we understood that concept of war, if nothing else. Sometimes, the good die and the bad live. Sometimes the plans fall apart and the missions fail. It's possible to make no mistakes and still lose. That is not a sign of weakness. It's part of being human. But another part of being human is trying to understand why things happen, even things that have no reason. Maybe especially those things. As humans, we want to understand everything around us. That's why we invented math, science, astronomy. It's why we built spaceships and traveled to worlds that were mere specks of light on Earth. Yet the one thing we cannot comprehend, despite all the time we've been exposed to it, is death.

I could sit here and list out everything that is happing to me chemically. I can explain why my body is reacting in very specific ways or why my thoughts travel down certain paths. What I can't explain is the ache in my chest and the shortness in my breath and the burning in my eyes and the darkness in my mind. I can't explain those things because they do not follow the laws of logic. They do not yield to my demands nor listen to my warnings. For these reasons, I cannot explain why they are happening. All I know, all I can say with certainty, is that they are.

Vincent is, as usual, not happy with how I'm handling my grief. He keeps insisting that I need to talk to someone. That bottling up these emotions will only hurt me in the long run. I can't believe I'm saying this but...maybe he's right. I'm an advanced human, the very pinnacle of human evolution if Halsey is to be believed, but that in no way changes the fact that I am still human. Basically, all it means is I can take a lot more damage than any other human can. But I've seen what bottling things up does to humans. I've seen O'Brien, wracked with grief to the point where he can barely function as a soldier. I've seen Lasky completely change his personality because of his brother's desk. And while I haven't had the misfortune of experiencing how much harder and colder my grandparents are after my clone's death, I've certainly felt ripples of their new personalities.

If I bleed off the pain, if I talk about what is going on inside my head, will things get better? Will I be able to return to being the person that I was, or will this one day completely change everything about me? I don't know. I may never know. Or maybe someday, years from now, I'll look back on this entry and realize that this is a turning point in my life. And who knows, maybe the change will be for the better. I almost wish I could believe that.

Until that day, all I know is that I feel like my very being has been broken into pieces. I'm not even sure I can put them back together, and I'm really not sure I want to try. I think...I think I'll let myself be broken just a little longer. It's the closest I ever come to being able to rest.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ Pieces _by Red._


	44. In the End

Time: 2248/

September 06, 2531/

Aboard the UNSC _Excalibur_

It doesn't start with a lot. One word, one order, one second out of your entire life. Each one is so small, it's hard to realize just how important they are. They can change your entire life with barely a thought. Don't believe me?

One word: "Heads!"

One order: "As per Naval Code 45812, you are hereby conscripted into the UNSC Special Project codenamed SPARTAN-II."

One second: 'I do.'

All those little things add up, even the ones that I can't remember anymore. People say the choices we make are what shape us into who we are. I don't agree. It's so much more than just _our_ choices. Every second of every day is shaping us. We are constantly being torn down and built up with every passing instant of our life. The big and the little, working together to transform us into something else entirely; something we have little to no control over. So when people tell me that only the big things matter, I can't take them seriously. Everything is equally important.

And yet, at the same time, nothing matters in the end. Not the big, and not the little. I think that's the hardest thing to comprehend. All those little things in your life, all those big moments that change everything, mean nothing in the grand scheme of things.

When you look at the big picture of this galaxy, every life is so insignificant. Yes, I said it, we are worthless in the large tapestry. The stars won't stop shining, no matter who dies. The planets won't stop turning. Life will move on, no matter what has ended. Vincent says these thoughts are signs of suicidal tendencies, which I suppose makes sense. Doesn't change the truth, though. Our lives just...don't matter.

But that's only if you look at the big picture.

The smaller picture is very different. Because, in the small picture, all those little seconds become contained worlds. A single smile to someone who is having a bad day may make the stars look a little brighter. Small acts of kindness can restart the world's spin for someone that feels lost. It might be nothing more than a passing moment to you, but those very same seconds could absolutely transform someone else's life. Quite honestly, it's fascinating to think about. And there's certainly enough from my life to prove my point.

When I smiled at John on our second day, the smile didn't mean much to me. It was different for him. When Cadmon chose to walk beside me as we went to find Vincent, it didn't matter much to him. It was different for me. Sort of...surreal, isn't it? To think of how much an impact every action you make can have. Scary, too. Sometimes I wonder if my casual brush-off of that private is something he'll forget in a minute or if it will the action that pushes him over the edge. If my exclamation of frustration will amuse the communication officer or if it will ruin their entire day.

I'm not saying that I'm double-guessing every little thing I do on a day-to-day basis. Honestly, I have enough on my plate. What I _am_ saying, is that I need to remember just how important each individual moment is. It doesn't take much effort to be kind, or at least not cruel. Some days are a struggle; social interactions weren't exactly something Spartans were trained for. But that doesn't mean I can't learn. They day I stop learning is the day I die, right?

But it also reminds me that nothing lasts forever. Not the good times, but especially not the bad. What could seem completely insurmountable today could become nothing more than a bad dream tomorrow. Besides, just because I'm having a bad time doesn't mean that I need to drag down everyone else. I can feel like I'm drowning and still throw someone else a lifeline. And if no one throws one to me, I can pull myself out eventually. I always do.

I guess that's the point of this entry. It's something I need to remember, though I don't need to remember why. That part...is probably best forgotten. But if I ever read this again, remember. Don't sweat the bad times. They pass. Darkness is temporary, not eternal.

In the end, it doesn't even matter.

* * *

 _Babble time: The song this chapter is based on is_ In the End _by Linkin Park._


	45. Lillian: A Soldier's Memoir

25310914

Excerpt from Lillian McCoy's Personal Journal:

It's still difficult to wrap my head around. When I joined the Insurrection, I knew I'd have to fight. The tyrannical UNSC won't be 'talked' into giving us our rights and letting us be free, so there would be blood shed. I knew that, I really did. The recruiters didn't sugarcoat anything; I went in with my eyes wide open. And really, it wasn't very hard to adjust. My first fight was chaotic and I was afraid, but I did as I'd been trained and got out alive. Even managed to kill an ODST, which got me all sorts of congratulations from other soldiers.

So why is it that it's now, safe at my parents home after a year of 'educational travels' that everything seems out of place? Dad keep talking about how I haven't changed much; he expected someone very different, apparently. If he could only see inside me, he wouldn't speak so. More likely, he'd be scared to death.

I never realized how much war worms its way into your life. It's been six months, but I still wake up every day, expecting to see my weapon laying beside me. When the wind blows, mother's wind chimes sound like those cans we'd string through the bushes to warn us if the UNSC tried to break into camp. Dad took me shopping just the other day, and I nearly froze in terror at the sight of a paper bag sitting in a cart, abandoned. It took five solid minutes to convince myself that it wasn't an IED and that I could return the cart to the stall. All these things that I took for granted or normal, and suddenly they inspire absolute fear.

And it's not just me. Andrew Carlisle, who lives just up the road, joined the UNSC two years ago and is home on leave. He was walking past our house yesterday and nearly had a heart attack when a car backfired. I've never seen anyone drop so fast, though I wasn't much better. Truly, I'm lucky everyone was focused on him, but it makes me wonder if the nightmares that stalk my sleep hunt him as well. David and Jason are struggling too, though I can't help them much. I can barely help myself. I have also started seeing my grandparents differently. As a child, I could never understand why Grandpa would stay up so late, sitting in the living room in silence and staring into the fire. I couldn't figure out why Grandma would never go see the fireworks with us. Now I find myself staring into space while losing track of time and avoiding loud noises like my life depends on it. It's a damn miracle that dad hasn't noticed yet.

I think the hardest part is wondering what Klare would do, if she was here. Even when she was sick and confined to bed, she always knew how I was feeling. If I was upset, she wouldn't leave me alone until I'd unburdened myself to her. And then, when I felt all wrung out and weak, she had a way of helping me work through the problems. She'd see solutions I couldn't see, since I was too close to the problem. I think my favorite part was that she wouldn't coddle me about the issues, either. If it was a legit concern, she treated it as such, but if it was me simply over thinking everything, she had no qualms calling me an idiot. I...I really miss her. She'd be able to help me with these issues, I know it, but...dammit, I miss her!

Every day I wake up, trying to remember how to live a 'normal' life. But how can I, when every morning when I brush my teeth I can still taste the gunpowder from my gun? How can I, when I can be sitting at breakfast and still hear my sergeant screaming for me to run? How can I, when I still feel my the weight of my pack on my shoulders as I walk around? How can I, when I cannot sleep without visions of death dancing before my eyes? I went in with open eyes. I knew what I was getting into. I knew I would never be the same; that war would fundamentally change me in ways I couldn't even begin to imagine when I signed my name and raised my right hand. And I will never regret the decisions I've made. For Klare, I cannot. Yet I cannot shake the feeling that I've lost something I can't ever get back.

The Insurrection has given and taught me so much. They taught me how to fight and gave me a purpose. They taught me a skill and gave me a job. They taught me tradition and gave me pride. They taught me discipline and gave me acceptance. They taught me how to put that uniform on.

I just can't get it off.

* * *

 _Babble Time: The song used in this chapter is_ A Soldier's Memoir _by Mitch Rossell._


	46. Kelly: Africa

25310930

Excerpt from Sierra 087's Personal Journal:

The strangest thing happened today. Well, not _strangest_. At least, I don't think Fred spontaneously turned into a girl and joined a monastery. Still, it was rather strange. Although now I just have the image of Fred in a habit in my head, so give me a second to scream before I continue.

Right then, where was I? Oh right, something strange.

John, Fred, and I had finished a recent mission subduing Insurrectionists on Newsaka and were returning to base here on Reach. It's the monsoon season, so we were welcomed by powerful winds and a torrential downpour. The boys kept muttering about how they hated getting wet and sprinted inside as fast as they could, but I got distracted by the sight of an ODST, in full armor, dancing in the rain.

That's right. Dancing. In monsoon rain. Like I said, something strange.

Still, I couldn't help but be curious, so since I'm not a fragile little flower like the boys, I detoured to approach the soldier and watch. It only to a second to realize that the person was female, but other than that and that she was tall, there wasn't much to be learned from watching. Well, and the fact that she couldn't dance to save her life. She must have noticed me, though, because she came to a sudden stop facing me and I couldn't help but think that she was smiling.

"Good morning, Spartan," she said, voice slightly breathless as the wind and rain continued to batter at us. "Can I help you?"

"Didn't expect anyone else to be out right now," I replied, trying not to show just how surprised I was. Let's recap, okay? Soldier, dancing in the rain, the _monsoon_ rain, and apparently perfectly comfortable with talking to me. I couldn't see any rank insignia, so I don't know what she was, but I'm guessing officer.

"I've been waiting for this rain all week," was all the soldier said, actually laughing as she gave another spin, arms out as though she was embracing the storm. "Been trapped on a ship for the last few months, so this is exactly what I needed. Besides," she turned to look at me over her shoulder, "is your life worth living if you don't take the chance to dance in the rain?" I couldn't answer that, for various reasons, but then a shout came from the nearby barracks and the ODST trotted away, still spinning at random times as she enjoyed the weather.

Still, she got me thinking. That comment about life and dancing in the rain...Klare had said something similar back in training. An old saying from Verent, she'd always said. _When Life gives you sunshine, live. When it gives you rain, dance._ We all thought that maybe that's why she was the happiest of us, even when she was pissed to the point of murder. She'd learned to live in the good times and dance in the bad.

Life hasn't been easy recently. Both wars are picking up, and the danger in every mission is increasing. We nearly lost Will just yesterday, and Linda was still in medical from last month's attack. Sometimes it seems like we're all just holding on. Not just us; all of the UNSC. We're clinging to the cliff face by our fingertips, desperate not to fall. But because of that, we're all so focused on the bad, do we take the time to find the good? I know I haven't.

So I started dancing. Not like the ODST; nothing so wild and uncoordinated and... _free._ Ballroom dancing, just like my father taught me before the Spartan program. The waltz, specifically, and it didn't take long to re-find the joy that I always felt when I danced. It's in the movements, but also the memories. The smiles and laughter that may have passed, but still cling to me with every spin or shift. In fact, I was having so much fun I didn't notice that John had come back for me until he actually grabbed my shoulder...and promptly dodged my punch. Once we were both sure that he was safe and unharmed, he asked what I was doing and I just smiled and said, "When Life gives you rain, dance." He went silent, just watching me through his helmet. Fred was also staring, along with the other Spartans that had been in the base waiting for us. And then, to the shock of us all, John shrugged and offered me his hand. When I took it, he joined me in the waltz, not saying another word. Then Fred and Naomi. Li and Vinh. Jai and Mike, which made us all laugh.

Ten minutes later, we were all dancing in the rain.

* * *

 _Babble Time: The song used in this chapter is_ Africa _by Toto._


	47. Closer

Time: 1430\

October 10, 2531\

Mars

Well...this sucks. Like, seriously, this absolutely blows. Not the worst thing that could happen, it's true, but still pretty bad. But I should probably back up and explain, in case I'm ever blessed enough to forget that this nightmare happened.

So ONI was scouting out a known Insurrection meeting point on Mars. No big deal; they do shit like this all the time. ONI and the Insurrection both. Usually Eric only pays attention to those reports to tell his ODSTs what places should be avoided. However, this time he was approached by the head of the ONI chapter on the formerly Red Planet and asked for help. They needed someone on the inside, but their agent had been identified in a matter of minutes, so clearly there was a leak in their security. The solution? Go to another UNSC branch and get one of them to infiltrate the location, which happened to be a hotel bar. And guess which lucky ODST was the only damn person on the ship that had actually completed all of the training modules on undercover work.

I always knew getting easily bored was going to be the death of me.

The ONI agents have been unusually helpful. They helped me dye my hair a black that looks absolutely natural, supplied contacts that record what I see as well as change my eye color, and even provided a spray that would darken my skin to a nice tan. When I looked into the mirror for the first time, I couldn't recognize myself. Sorta wish that was a new feeling. Regardless, I'd gone straight from the prep area to the hotel and, three hours later, I had my first shift at the bar.

The work's not that hard. Smile all the time, mix drinks (which I'm scarily good at), and be a willing ear. Sure, my cheeks always ache at the end of the day, but it's a small price to pay for what I'm learning. Some of the Insurrection leaders actually frequent the bar and I've been able to provide vital intel on them all. A bit of smiling and flirting are acceptable for this reward.

But John's the lucky one, not me, so of course things had to go south. Spartans arrived at the bar today, looking very uneasy but actually choosing a booth and settling down. They stuck out like sore thumbs and I wanted to ask what the hell they were doing, but obviously that was a very bad idea, so I stayed stubbornly behind the counter. It took a moment, but they apparently realized they should probably order drinks, so one stood up and approached me, and I nearly fainted when I recognized him. To be fair, I could say the same in reverse. At least it was Fred, or I'd have been punched through another wall or two.

My brother gave the orders and I made them so he could go back, but he chose to drop the glasses off with the others and rejoin me, clumsily trying his hand at flirting. It had to have something to do with why they were all there, so I also played my part and flirted back, but I wanted to run away screaming. Not exactly the best reaction to a customer.

It didn't take long to realize that the Spartans were there to flush out the Insurrectionists, who started trickling out as soon as it looked like the large soldiers were preoccupied, and I was able to relax. In fact, I went from flirting to gentle teasing, which Fred reciprocated fully and gratefully. It was almost like we were kids again, and he must have felt the same because his parting comment as he rose to leave was, "We ain't ever getting older."

Now, at the end of my final shift (ONI is grabbing everyone tonight) the other barkeepers are teasing me for not kissing the 'stud' when I had the chance. I laugh, but the thought of kissing Fred is almost enough to make me heave. Besides, I couldn't have done anything like that while my brother looked like his heart was breaking. It kills me, sometimes, to think about what I'm doing to him. Thinking I was dead was the only kindness I could give my siblings, and now he has to deal with the secret that I'm alive and well. It's the cruelest thing I've done, and I hate myself for it.

I was doing just fine before this night, but now I can't even stand without my legs shaking. I truly am the monster that Halsey wanted to make us into, even if I'm not as obedient as she wanted. My only saving grace is that Fred never looked at me like I was the source of all his pain. Maybe he hasn't realized it yet, but I will selfishly cling to his love. And maybe he's right. Maybe, at heart, we won't ever get any older. I hope so. I like being his older sister.

* * *

 _Babble Time: The song used in this chapter is_ Closer _by The Chainsmokers._


	48. Little Do You Know

Time: 2000\

November 15, 2531\

Aboard the UNSC _Excalibur_

It's unfair to blame Halsey for this, I know, but I'm angry and achey and miserable, so dammit all, I'm blaming her. How the hell does a human even manage to catch an alien virus anyway? I mean, I guess I can't complain too much, since my severity is roughly equivalent to a cold while everyone else is suffering like it's the flu, but come on! Spartans aren't supposed to get sick! She built that into our damn genetic code!

Gah, I hate this. I've used more tissues the last ten minutes than I have my entire damn life before this bullshit. Why the hell do humans even get runny noses anyway? What evolutionary quirk thought, 'Hey, you're sick and weak, let's make it impossible for you to breath quietly and give you disgusting mucus that drips out constantly to let everyone know where you've been.' Yeah, great idea nature! Really helpful!

...I'm yelling at nature. That's it, I've hit a new low. I can never show my face in polite society again. Yes, Vincent, I am aware that I'm being dramatic and unreasonable; I'm sick! This is allowed!

Right, back on subject. The only thing worse than being sick is being confined to my quarters, which I have been. All sick crew members are being quarantined to prevent the spread of infection, and Eric arranged for me to have a private medical room so that no one knows how well I'm handling this whole thing. Good thing, too, as I've spent most of my time pacing like a maniac when I'm not trying to suffocate myself with pillows. I'm not meant to stay still! It's a direct insult to everything I've ever been in my life! Yes, Vincent, I know I'm yelling at a virtual journal! I DON'T CARE!

...I'm scared.

There. I admit it. I'm...scared. When I close my eyes I feel like John is standing right beside me, like those evil spirits from old movies. His presence is heavier than I remember...judging. I feel so dirty, like I'm a monster. Hatred is rolling off of him, suffocating me until I manage to pry my eyes open and I realize that I'm safe on the ship again. I know it's not real; I know John isn't here and would never be like that but...fears don't really care about what you know. They take advantage of the doubt you can't ever rid yourself of and manage to make it bigger than it should ever be.

The worst times are when I'm asleep. I never mastered the skill of waking myself up when I need to, so I suffer through the same dream every night. Running through a maze while the Spartans hunt me down, screaming about how I'd betrayed them. I always wake up out of breath, crying and curled up in a corner. Eric tried to wake me once when he came to visit. He got punched in the nose. Still feel bad for that.

Last night though...things were different. In the dream, John caught me and all my fear and anger just came bursting out. I just started screaming at him. "I'm trying!" I yelled. "I'm still haunted by everything we did; I'm still trying to put everything back together! I'm drowning in my mistakes and I'm still afraid that you might change your mind, but I'm trying! What more do you want?!" And John...he just stared. But I...I sorta feel like he said something back.

"I know you're hurting. I know you're trying. I know you're breaking. I'm ready to forgive you, but forgetting is a harder fight. But I'll wait. I love you like you've never felt this pain. I promise you don't have to be afraid. The love you see right here will stay, so lay your head down. I'll wait." Then I woke up.

Honestly, I don't know what terrifies me more. The idea of continuing the dream tonight, or the idea of not seeing him again. I'm really hard to please, aren't I? I can't stand having him here, but I can't stand losing him either. I just...I really need to make up my mind. Either I'm happy or I'm not. Yes, Vincent, I'm aware that there are a million other emotions I could use in this instance. I'm choosing to use the word 'happy' to convey an idea. I swear, you're just like that character from that old Earth show. Hell, what was his name? Spook? Speck? Eh, that guy.

Well, the warning light is flashing, which means it's time to get back in bed. The medics will scream if I skip another sleep cycle; apparently rest is the best way to fight this bug. Guess it's time to see if I'm alone again.

* * *

 _Babble Time: The song used in this chapter is_ Little Do You Know _by Alex and Sierra._


	49. Eric: Things We Lost to the Fire

25311116

Excerpt from Eric Faldon's personal Journal:

One of the scariest days of my life was when General Black called and told me that Kaine had been shot during a training exercise. Sitting by her bedside, watching her in the throes of fever, had almost been more than I could bear. After, she'd tried to reassure me that she'd never be in that position again since Spartans couldn't get sick.

Yet here I am, five years later, sitting by her bedside as she thrashes in her sleep, trapped in fever fueled nightmares. Worse, I'm as helpless now as I was then.

The doctors say that if she had listened to them, she would not be in the condition she is. Apparently they weren't exaggerating the amount of rest she should have been receiving, but how could I enforce their rules? I doubt she'd have listened if she _hadn't_ been trained and enhanced to embrace her natural stubbornness. All that's left is to wait to pick up the pieces as she breaks and then try to put her back together. Truthfully, I'm getting far too much practice doing this.

Hell, truthfully I'm getting far too _old_ for this.

I've never regretted adopting this amazing child. Though I was furious at Frank for assigning my men to her, there's never been a moment when I didn't feel at least a little awe towards her. She's strong, loyal, determined, smart, trustworthy...every good trait I can think of for a human to have. When I'd heard she'd died, it had broken something in me that I hadn't realized even existed. Getting her back was a dream come true, though I anxiously await the day that I can give her back to her real father, Mendez.

Regardless of if I regret taking her on or not, times like this leave me nearly desperate to call Frank and tell him everything. I'm doing the best I can, but I don't _know_ her the way he does. I can't help the way he could. Though it galls me to admit it, I will never be as important to her as he was. I'm her father...but he was her dad. I can't replace that. Maybe I shouldn't try.

…

Sorry, O'Brien just came in to check on Kaine. It almost funny how dedicated he's become to her ever since she told him the truth about her past. Rufus mentioned just yesterday that the older soldier was nearly following her around like a puppy, but there seems to be more truth to that then I'd previously thought. After all, this is the third time he's stopped by.

I wonder how things would be if she was still in the program. Who would be sitting by her side? Frank? One of her siblings? No one? Would the doctors even allow visitors or would she be in quarantine? So many questions, no answers, and all of them pointless anyway. Heh, maybe that's where she gets her penchant for asking a million questions in her journal. She hasn't read me any of the entries, but she's ranted about her habits enough, they're hard to miss.

…

For being in quarantine, my daughter sure gets several visitors. Granted, this one was a doctor, but still. I wish the news was better. The fever hasn't gotten any worse, but it hasn't gotten any better either. If she wasn't augmented, she would be dead right now, and none of my medical officers can figure out why we're not sliding her into a coffin. So far, Vincent's been able to keep everything covered up, but even he is struggling against this virus. I might have to intervene soon. This could get messy really fast.

The doctors say that Kaine's fever is so intense, if she was conscious she would feel as though she was being burned alive. I can't even begin to imagine what that would feel like, let alone how a Spartan would experience it. But one thing I've noticed is that she keeps muttering certain words, names, over and over. There's a desperation to the mutters, like she's trying to protect something or someone. I have no way of knowing what fever fueled hell she is going through, but I thought I should write the names down...just in case she ever needs to see what she's afraid to lose the most.

John. Fred. James. Serin. Kelly. Carris. Soren. Dean. I have no idea who any of you are, but know that you are what she's most afraid to live without. You're what she's trying to save from the fire. All I can do is pray that you are alive yourselves, or you just might take her with you.

* * *

 _Babble Time: The song used in this chapter is_ Things We Lost in the Fire _by Bastille._


	50. Can't Go Back Now

Time: 0100\

February 11, 2532\

Aboard the UNSC _Excalibur_

Well, today is a big day. It's my 21st birthday. That's right; I am officially an adult. I'm a 2nd Lieutenant in the ODST Corps; I've been in 52 military engagements, 48 of which have been full war campaigns; I've been awarded the Bronze Star, Silver Star, Gold Star, the Navy "E" Ribbon, the Marine Corps Medal, the Red Legion of Honor, and multiple Purple Hearts; I've been kidnapped, brainwashed, trained, experimented on, and betrayed; I've survived massacres and caused a few. Now, to add to my list of accomplishments, I can legally drink alcohol, which doesn't effect me anyway.

Yeah. Big day.

So far, the hardest thing I've done all day, other than get the day off from Freelancer training to come spend the day with Eric and O'Brien, is smile when every damn person on the ship has come up and wished me a happy birthday. O'Brien offered to take me out for drinks tonight, and then choked on his water when I dryly reminded him that I've been drinking for years. After all, so far as everyone is concerned, I turned 21 less than a year after Corbulo. Ah, the joys of having to fake records so no one knows that a 14 year old attended a military academy. So yeah, everyone thinks I'm actually turning 26. Must admit, I look old enough, may Halsey be cursed forever for that. Although Eric did mention that I don't seem to be aging as fast as I should be. Everyone else is claiming that I'm aging well, but really it's just another point that I can rage at the doctor for. I wonder what will happen when it starts to become obvious that I'm not progressing like a normal human. Of all the stupid things for ONI to catch me with, not aging is probably near the top of the list.

Still, turning 21 has had this strange effect of making me think back on my life. I can't really say if it's been good or bad; there are things I'd change in a heartbeat and things I wouldn't trade for anything. Problem is a lot of those 'things' are woven together so tightly I can't change one without affecting another. Maybe that's the point. Grandmother always said that life was like a painting. Even when mistakes were made, they added to the bigger picture and sometimes they made it better. To remove the mistakes would be to remove vital pieces from the whole.

...it's a good thing she thinks I'm dead, or Grandmother would never let me live this moment down. The horror of it all; my grandparents actually have good sayings! Every child lives in fear of the day when they realize the old people are actually _right_. Yet the longer I'm alive and the more I see, the more I'm learning that my grandparents and parents actually had a pretty good understanding of life. For example, I now know why mother hated saying goodbye.

Even after all this time, I think about home and my family. Some things I wish I didn't know, like what happened to mom or how far dad went off the deep end. I'm not happy that my clone died on Christmas, ruining the holiday for all. I can't stand the idea of Lillian becoming the robot queen that she is, but there's nothing I can do about it. And it's not like I know everything about what happened after I 'left'. Did Lillian date? Did dad build that new shed he was always talking about? Did Grandmother and Grandfather finally buy that lake near their old cottage? I haven't heard about Grandmother being arrested, so at the least she stopped shooting at the teenagers that would boat on it late at night.

Life was so simple back then. Even with the war and the constant threat of attack, things were...slower. Quieter. Easier. I had the forest to run in and family to love and a roof over my head and the most wonderful food in the galaxy. There wasn't much left for me to wish for. Sure, things weren't perfect, but nothing is perfect. Perfect is boring. I'd rather have life, no matter how hard it gets. Still...it's not a crime to with for what I'd had, right?

Nevertheless, the past is the past and I can't live there. So I have to keep moving forward, just like I've been doing all my life. After all, as Grandfather always said, 'The only steps that matter are the ones you take all by yourself. So walk on, because you can't go back now.' I can't go back now. All I can do is keep moving forward. Keep walking on...you know what? I'm going to take O'Brien up on that drink offer. Because even on a ship in the middle of space, without any family around and technically at war, I am allowed to take these quiet times. I'm allowed to take breaks and enjoy what I have. I think Grandmother would approve.

* * *

 _Babble Time: The song used in this chapter is_ Can't Go Back Now _by The Weepies._


	51. Sound of Silence

Time: 0300\

March 3, 2532\

Greydowns

I've heard people say that darkness is something scary. According to them, a fear of the dark is entirely normal and nothing to really stress over. I admit...I'm confused. Darkness has never been something that I've found discomfort in. Darkness...shadows...lack of light...it's almost soothing. A protective blanket that hides you from that which could harm you. People argue that the dark also hides your dangers, but I guess I just don't see it that way. It has no favorites; it doesn't protect someone from you but expose you to them. It's equality and protection and...yeah, I guess it's pretty obvious that I like it. Darkness just...isn't scary.

Silence, though...silence is terrifying.

Life is noise. It's the sound of breathing, the beat of your heart, the rush of the blood through your body. It's the rustle of the wind and the call of the creatures and talking and laughing and...noise. Where there is noise, there is life. They're impossibly interwoven, unable to be separated from each other. Even in the dark, noise persists, which means there is life in the dark.

It therefore goes without saying that silence is the exact opposite. Silence is a corpse. The deepest reaches of empty space. It's the absence of everything that confirms that we are alive. In older times, animals knew when predators were near because everything went silent around them. Silence is fear and terror and the sudden realization that your life is in jeopardy. It's isolation and conformity and...

How strange is it that I can face the darkest, scariest, creepiest places known to man but I balk when things are too quiet? That I can walk onto bloody battlefields and be surrounded by the sight and stench of war without even the slightest hesitation, yet I can't stand to sit inside an empty base? Maybe my view of what is disturbing really does need adjustment.

I'm not even sure this entry will make sense if I ever read it again. I mean, here I am, trapped on a planet at war and waxing poetic about darkness and silence. For someone that complained about having this damn journal, I sure am using it pretty regularly. It's just...a dream I had has been bothering me and keeping me up. As we're going to stage a large push as soon as dawn comes around, I figured the only way I could get back to sleep is to write things out. However, all I'm doing is confusing myself even more.

To be fair, it was a confusing dream. I was walking down a really dark street; it looked old and worn, like some of the streets in London that my grandfather used to show me when I would visit. There's a streetlamp, the only light to be seen, and I stop there for a moment to adjust my coat against the rain, but while I'm standing there there's a bright flash of light, like the Covenant's glassing weapons. The light hurts my eyes, but I still clearly see this huge horde of people all around me, living life like anyone else, but they're all silent. It's almost like they're afraid to break the silence that is suddenly stifling me; crushing me with the weight. I try to scream, I try to tell them how dangerous the silence is, but I just can't make a sound. All I can do is watch as they all bow down to the light beam, like it's some bizarre god that they'd created.

Li always liked to talk about the meaning of dreams. He once told John that his dream of eating an entire cow was based in his need to win and consume everything that he is presented with. I've always thought that dream analysis was pointless; an exercise in imagination and gullibility. But this dream...it won't go away. It's lurking on the edge of my mind, like a patch of weeds that wants to strangle everything I've become. Each time I close my eyes, I can see it all again, as though it were seared into my very mind. It's bright and cold and honestly terrifies me more than anything I have ever seen. Maybe because of what I saw, or maybe because I can't understand it. Seriously, where is Li when he's actually needed?

But everything is fading a bit now. There's still a couple hours before dawn, so I'm going to try to sleep once more. With any luck, none of us will be falling silent any time soon.

Hello darkness, my old friend.

...oh dammit, Vincent's programing is glitching again. Argh, hold on! Dictation end!

* * *

 _Babble Time: The song used in this chapter is_ Sound of Silence _by Disturbed._


	52. Across the Line Again

Time: 0300\

March 30, 2532\

In Freelancer Command Base

To hear the upper echelon describe it, humanity is faced with two enemies. One threatens our way of life. The other threatens our very existence. They're painted with the same brush; dark and threatening and requiring nothing less than our complete and utter rejection and ire. The amount of propaganda produced to incite our hatred for our enemies is staggering. It's impossible to escape and has become such a background noise that it actually feels uncomfortable when it's gone.

Perhaps that fact alone reveals the true enemy we should be fighting. Not the Insurrection. Not the Covenant. Rather, the enemy that we are all facing is the Human Condition.

Don't get me wrong. I've fought in the trenches of all the current wars. I've sniped Insurrectionists as they threaten hostages. I've knifed aliens in the back. I've cleared more rubble then I knew could exist, I've held the hands of dying civilians that were terrified of dying alone, I've carried children off of the battlefields their parents have died upon. I've lied and stolen and cheated and killed and butchered and massacred in the name of humanity. Red blood, purple blood, tears, sweat, mud, soot, they've all been ground so deep into my skin I can never scrub myself clean. I've spared the guilty and killed the innocent on orders. I've wept and screamed and thrown-up and bled. I've looked into the eyes of men I knew would not come back from the battles I was sending them into. I've shaken hands with people who hold the value of a human life just barely above the worth of dirt.

And I'd do it all again.

I'm a soldier. It might not be the life style I chose, but it is what I have and it's what I have to live with. Even if I was volunteered, I stuck with the decision, which means I'm choosing these battlefields and these promises. I willingly jump into Hell every day so that, hopefully, no one else will have to. It's not being a hero, not at the heart. It's a willingness to face the darkness that the majority of the world refuses to see, to protect those that don't deserve the terror.

But here, in the safety of my own mind, I can admit that it's not the enemies outside that frighten me. Insurrectionists, I can handle. Covenant, I can handle. Orders that strip me of my humanity, I can handle. What I cannot handle, no matter how much I try, is my own mind. The doubts that whisper at night when I'm trying to sleep. The hatred that batters at me when I fail to save a life. The fear that consumes me when I realize just how tiny I am when compared to the forces against me. Everyday is a constant struggle to hold my worst enemy, myself, across the line. It's never far away and it's always pressing; I need to hold the line or everything will be lost.

And it's not just me. It's so painfully obvious that it's not just me. I see it in the eyes of the people I rescue, in the men I lead, in the officers I accept orders from. We're all fighting our own inner demons, and some fair better than others but the war is never ending.

Some can overcome their doubts and shine like a beacon, drawing the desperate around them. Others can mimic that light and drag their followers into a state that is little better than chaos. And then there are the unfortunate that lose. I see far more of them then I would wish, usually with blood splattered across the wall and the gun cold in their own hands.

The worst part is that I'm never sure just how close to their desperation I am. There's no way to measure how much longer anyone can hold on, and for so many our balance is shaky at best. A soldier that is fine today might be in the morgue tomorrow without ever having stepped into a physical battle. And the part that I hate the most is how hard it is to tell that your friend is in combat at all. There's often little warning, little indication that they are in a fight for their very life. And even when we do notice, there is little we can do to help but be there. Sometimes that's all that's needed. Sometimes...it's just not enough.

So yes, humanity is facing two enemies. Both large, powerful, and very dark. But it is not them that I fear. It is the silent enemy living inside every human, tearing us to pieces and bleeding us out with no wounds that I live in terror of. Because the stronger the person, the stronger the demon...and everyone says that I'm strong.

They're wrong.

* * *

 _Babble Time: The song used in this chapter is_ Across the Line _by Linkin Park, which I forgot I'd already done. I seriously need to clean out my playlist for songs I've already done._


	53. Rise

Time: 1500\

June 07, 2532\

Aboard the _Mother of Invention_

It was so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I'm better than this; I know it! Every damn day of my life since I woke up from cryo for the first time was been making me better. Stronger, faster, smarter, harder, _everything_! And I'm more than that archetype, yet I still managed to fail so epically.

Overconfidence, maybe, though it galls me to even think about it. We were never allowed to foster anything other than a complete understanding of our abilities and limits. To over- or underestimate ourselves was the biggest disservice we could give to our Instructors, and we usually respected them enough to try to avoid those situations. So no, it wasn't overconfidence. I cannot hide behind such pretty terms when the fact is that I just plain failed.

A routine mission. Nothing that should have choked me up. Me, Carolina, Wash, and York. Counselor has been teaming us up more and more, recently. Just unusually often enough that everyone in the Project has noticed, but no one has spoken to us about it. Carolina hinted that it was an order from the Director, and I can't find it in my to argue, but none of that is the point. What matters is that I'm very comfortable working with them. We've all worked past the awkward point months ago, and function nearly as smoothly as my Spartan team did.

Objective: Apprehend the Insurrectionists that were harassing an ONI base on Forseti. No doubt a mission directly from Grandmother, but even if they are not related by blood I know that Father would never openly defy her. So we're deployed, create a plan during the first hour of travel, and then have a pushup competition for the remaining five. When we land, it barely takes more than a day to track down every Insurrectionist and neutralize them.

Last safe house; final sweep to be sure we've got everyone. Carolina and Wash are guarding out seven new prisoners, and we're all eager to get back to the _Mother of Invention_. I don't know, maybe I let that excitement cloud my judgment. Maybe I was tired or distracted or...no, I was stupid. That simple. Pure and utter stupidity. Because I don't see the enemy when I sweep my last room. I don't see him when I turn my back, the word 'Clear' on the tip of my tongue. Hell, I didn't even see him when he suddenly buried his knife in my side. A large knife, nearly long enough to be called a dagger, and though training kicks in and he's dead before I've fully turned to face him, the damage was done.

There was a roaring in my ears as I fell to my knees, hands clasped around the protruding hilt and I could feel my blood streaming out. An artery shot; nothing else could cause that much bleeding. I was out before my head hit the floor.

That was a week ago, and I've just woken this morning, mind fuzzy with drugs and my side still screaming in near agony. No one has been to see me other than the doctors, and I'm not sure I'd accept anyone else. Too busy beating myself up. Words are echoing in my head, berating me for the mistake at the same time as they chastise me for staying down. There's an itch in my gut telling me to push myself up and move on. Basic Spartan conditioning, but dammit all, knowing that doesn't make it any less effective.

Because that was always the damn point, wasn't it? That we could be knocked down by everything in the galaxy and still rise above it all. We don't stay down until we're dead. So even as I lay here, hating my moment of idiocy, I remember Instructor Ward. Whenever we got knocked down, he'd say, 'Oh ye of so little faith. Victory is in your veins; never doubt that. And you will not negotiate. So keep fighting.' That's what I need to do now.

I was stupid. Nothing will change that. But I'm not dead, which means I need to learn from this and make sure to never repeat the mistake. The last thing I can allow is this moment dragging me down so that the next mistake _is_ fatal. As Eric has told me time and time again, the fact that I am where I am is no accident. Being a Spartan, being an ODST, are not just moments in my life, but the very path that has led me to the person I am. Yet it is something deeper than has kept me alive this long. Something that cannot be trained or learned.

So I'll stay down for now. I'll analyze what I did wrong, call myself an idiot a couple hundred more times, and then I'll rise back up. Because, dammit, I'm not going to die like this!

* * *

 _Babble Time: The song used in this chapter is_ Rise _by Katy Perry_


	54. All the King's Horses

Time: 2130\

December 05, 2532\

Verent

If there is one thing I hate more than Halsey...well, no, there isn't...okay, if there is one thing I hate _as much_ as Halsey, it's missions in the cold. There is very little that is as aggravating as knowing I should be cold, not being cold, and having to fake being cold. Fine in theory, but inevitably I'm going to get distracted and forget to shiver and then someone will notice. That's likely to get me killed, so it's to be avoided at all costs...or at least whenever I bloody remember.

Today was...different. We were moving over an ice field; I never heard a crack but suddenly I was being plunged into icy water and had no idea which way the surface was. Eric insisted I learn how to swim, but in full armor and loaded down with weapons, I was sinking before I even realized what had happened. Standing in a blizzard cannot compare to what I faced under that ice. The darkness...the press against every inch of my body...the daggers that were raking at my mouth and nose when I gasped...

...is that what dying feels like?

It reminded me of a day in training. Our first winter on Reach and Mendez had taken us to the tallest mountain the planet had. We were thrown from the Pelican, landing in snow that was several meters thick. That moment where the white powder closed over my head...is there truly a difference between white snow and black water? I was trapped, buried, and unable to determine which way to go to save myself. It was the first time I felt true panic since we'd been pulled out of cryo.

A hand pulled me out of that snow all those years ago, just like one pulled me out of the water today. Different hands, but both brought with them that sharp surprise that someone was actually reaching for me. That wasn't something I remember from my childhood...though there's much I've forgotten if I'm honest.

We've made camp now, clear of the ice field, and I'm buried under what feels like every damn blanket our unit brought. Seriously; there is a definite weight holding me down and my head is tucked under at least three of the damn things. I'm simply floating in a nicely warm cave, listening to the people move around me. It's much more comfortable than I'd anticipated, but it also gives me time to think. Not the best idea.

When the body and mind have been in a shock, any number of things can resurface. Memories that were buried, nightmares that were escaped, training that was forgotten. I keep staring at my hand, remembering the first time I'd slit a man's throat with a knife and gotten covered in blood. It's so bright, like it's still there, but when I blink it vanishes. Then, sometimes, there's another hand holding mine, and I can _feel_ it. The warmth, the strength, the slight pulse. Always a different person, bringing up different feelings. I close my eyes and I'm in my bed on Verent, my bunk on Reach, my dorm in Corbulo. There's an ache in my chest to go home, but is it really a home when I'm alone?

As a child, Grandfather would tell me nursery stories, like Jack and the Beanstalk, or Humpty Dumpty. Here, on this war-torn planet, I feel so much like I've fallen off a wall. I'm broken, shattered, a puzzle that even the best of the human race couldn't put back together again. Maybe that's because so many parts have been removed, burned or cut away as others deem them unimportant. I'm not even sure I can disagree all the time. And then there are times I can feel each aching hole and I just want to weep. Times when I look at all the pieces that I've become and realize that I'll never be the person I was born to be. Because this...existence...this can't be what I was meant to be.

Still, there's a positive side to all of this, I suppose. I've never really sat down and taken a long look at everything the UNSC had stolen from me. Oh, sure, I noticed little things, but this is the big picture. This is the war instead of the battle. The first step towards healing for real.

There's a reason I'm still standing. I have to believe that. I'll keep running, faster and faster, outlasting everyone that's ever told me no. But sometimes I have to be the little girl, curled up under the blankets and in so many pieces that all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put me back together again. It's the only time I heal. And somehow...I'm so happy.

I'm cold again.

* * *

 _Babble Time: The song used in this chapter is_ All the King's Horses _by Karmina._


	55. John: I Want to Grow Old With You

25330101

Excerpt from Sierra 117's Personal Journal:

One of the oldest sayings I've ever heard is that time heals all wounds. When Mendez explained, he said that it meant that everything that causes pain will fade if we just give it enough time. Might be the one time he ever lied to me. Because, I'm sorry, but if time was going to heal this wound, wouldn't it have done so by now? How long do I have to feel like my heart was ripped from my chest and ground into the dirt? How long until the thought of you doesn't send me to my knees? Do I need to hold on just a little bit longer? Or will I ever get there?

It's not like I haven't given time a chance. It's been years, and yet the edge of loss is as sharp as it was the day we woke. That just...it pisses me off, if I'm honest. Why does loving you, which feels so damn right, cause this much pain? I know it's not because of you. The last thing you ever wanted was to hurt me...well, unless I was being stupider than normal, but I was pretty much asking for those wounds. This agony, though...you wouldn't want this for me. Right? Or is it because I've failed you? Is that why I face this curse?

The war continues. I spend nearly every day fighting, or preparing to fight. I've looked at more maps, counted more rounds of ammo, spent more time in medical than I ever want to remember. And I know there is no end in sight. We're starting to learn about these aliens, but there's a long road before we can even pretend that we're going to win. Right now, everything is about survival. Yet everyday, I wonder if things would be different if you were still by my side. Not the war, obviously. You couldn't change that. But maybe things would be a little bit brighter. Maybe things wouldn't seem so hopeless. I don't know.

You know, I never really thought I'd have to live without you. Stupid, right? I mean, we were all told from the very beginning that we were to be soldiers. Sure, we were kids, but we all knew what that meant. There was no way we were all going to come through to the end. And I've learned to accept most of the losses we've had. Even Sam, though I don't think I'll ever stop trying to think of how I could have saved him. But you...you just have to be the exception to every damn rule, don't you? Thing is, I can't tell who it annoys more, me or you.

Point is, you were the one person I always thought would be there. Sometimes I thought you were just too stubborn to die. Others, I thought that I wouldn't be able to keep going without you. I mean, having you refuse to talk nearly drove me crazy, so what would it be like to live every day knowing that you weren't around any more? When that therapist we had to talk to asked me what I was most afraid of, I told him it was the idea that I might lose you; that I would be powerless to save you and would have to live the rest of my life knowing I'd failed.

Thing is, I never thought that fear would come true. You know, like a worst case scenario thing? You need to think of it and you need to plan for it, but you never really think it will happen. So when it does happen, you're left there in shock, trying to figure out how everything could have gone so horribly wrong. You try to pick up the pieces, you try to remember the plan you'd made just in case, but everything seems just so much harder than it should be.

I still wake up some mornings with tears in my eyes. My ears will be ringing with your laughter or the way you'd say my name. My shoulders ache, like you've been riding on them again. I can smell that strange cinnamon scent that always seemed to cling to you, though I'll never know how. And if I really focus, I can see your eyes. Not just the green, but the tiny flecks of silver and gold that made them shine. The hidden layers of blue that come out when you're excited. The way they'd flash when you were angry, but would glint when you were just teasing. In those mornings, the metal around me finger feels unbearably cold and I want to rip it off, but I can't, because it's all I have left of you.

If I had the chance, I'd want to grow old with you. I'd want to spend every day waking up to see your face and every night knowing you'd be the last thing I'd see. I'd want to learn how to dance with you, like we did during that one mission. I'd want to share in all of your adventures, big and small And when I finally die, I'd want it to be in your arms.

But I can't.

* * *

 _Babble Time: The song used in this chapter is_ I Wanna Grow Old With You _by Westlife._


	56. My Dream

Time: 1600\

February 28, 2533\

Aboard the _Mother of Invention_

That's it; I'm making it official. Under absolutely no circumstances am I to be given sedatives. Ever. Not even to save my life. I'm a damn Spartan; I can hold myself still for whatever surgery needs to be done and if it's not a surgery I can heal my damn self, thank you very much.

Sweet chocolate, my head is pounding. Is this what it's like to be hungover? If so, I will sacrifice to any deity that actually exists as a thank you that I cannot get drunk. Why the hell do humans do this to themselves? I've thrown up seven times, can't stand light or noise, and feel like the entire room is spinning. Wash keeps checking in on me, but last time he stuck his head in the room I threw something at it. Not sure what. Possibly the bucket I've been throwing up in. Hope I cleaned it before I threw it.

And just in case the after effects alone aren't enough of a reason to swear off sedatives forever, which they really are, I had the weirdest dream. It was a giant city on a planet I've never seen. Hell, I haven't even heard of a planet like this one. The people looked human but I'm pretty sure the Spartans would have been told if there was a road that had a legit rainbow as a road. I felt like Dorthy from that old movie Grandfather loves so much.

I know I just said/wrote/thought that the people were human, but they were also so strange. They dressed like people from ancient Earth, and I mean super ancient, but they were using technology more advanced than I think truly exists. And, again, A RAINBOW ROAD! I cannot stress that enough. I seriously cannot. Honestly, road aside, I wasn't sure that I was dreaming until I saw a horse with eight legs gallop by, and I swear it was laughing at the people that were chasing it. After that, I quit questioning things.

Everything else aside, it wasn't a bad dream. It was nice being on a world that was at peace again. Children laughing and playing without worries or concerns. Adults living their lives with that grace and lightness that you don't realize you have until you lose it to war. And sure, there were soldiers around, if the people wearing antique armor and carrying swords or spears were soldiers, but they didn't seem tense. In fact, I saw one young soldier actually join in a dance in one of the open squares. Looked like he was having fun.

I'm not sure how long I was wandering through this large city when I literally ran into someone. Unusual in a dream, I grant you, but I wasn't really thinking at that point. Just backpedaled really fast, apologizing as I looked up (seriously, way up) at this man with red hair and beard. He stared at me for a long second, seeming surprised, before his face lit up with the biggest grin I've ever been exposed to. Then he grabbed my arm and started dragging me through the crowd, loudly bellowing, "Brother! I have found her! Your priestess lives!"

...yeah, I wasn't sure what to do with that either.

Anyway, the crowd finally gives way and Mountain Man nearly throws me forward into the clearing. I looked up and caught a glimpse of a pale man with auburn hair, bright green eyes, and the most startled expression in the world. Something about him is familiar, and I have this strange urge to kneel, but before I can there's a loud bang and I'm awake, lurching out of the medical bed and nearly running over Carolina as I sprint for the toilet to empty my stomach. It took a good twenty minutes before I felt safe enough to return to bed and was informed that the doctor had removed all the shrapnel I'd collected on the last travesty of a mission, and I'd apparently had a negative reaction to the sedative. Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.

So here I am, two days later, still trying to purge the damn drug from my system, and I can't stop thinking about the dream. There's something so familiar about it all, like a story from childhood that you can't remember the words of but you can still recall how you felt when you heard it. In fact, I'm willing to bet that's exactly what it is. But what story would I have heard about a world with a rainbow road? Seriously, I can't figure it out, which one? And since when would anybody in their right mind call me a priestess?

Oh, enough of this, I'm going to sleep. Dream world, beware.

* * *

 _Babble Time: The song used in this chapter is_ My Dream _by DHT._


	57. Just A Little Girl

Time: 0500\

June 14, 2533\

Aboard the _Mother of Invention_

I am, quite happily, in the Freelancer version of time-out. What does that mean, you may wonder. Simple. The Director threw me in the Brig for a week. Why? Because I punched South in the face and broke her jaw. Why would you do something like that, you may ask. Simple again. Because we lost one of the Project's soldiers in a skirmish with Insurrectionist forces and, while I was expressing my condolences to the soldier's brother, South thought it would be a good time to say, "Why the hell are you saying sorry? The dumb fuck was asking for it when he left his shelter." So, yeah, she's in the Infirmary getting her jaw wired together and I'm in the Brig.

Totally worth it.

Thing is, I'm not even in trouble with the Freelancers I actually give a shit about. Carolina, Wash, York, and North are all firmly on my side. Hell, as I was being led away by the guards I distinctly heard York drawl, "Why the hell are you crying? You dumb fuck was asking for it when you opened your mouth." Even North was glaring at his sister instead of me.

Counselor said I overreacted. Maybe. Slight maybe. In fact, most likely not, but I'll let him say whatever he wants to say because I'm barely listening. Truthfully, I went easier on South than I would nearly anyone else. After all, no matter what the upper echelon of this Project may want everyone to think, most of their Freelancers are not military. I cannot blame them for not understanding certain military nuances.

Don't get me wrong; South is a bitch. Has been since day one and I should actually receive a medal for not breaking her jaw before now. But there are so many people in this little experiment that I've wanted to turn into bloody smears, yet I hold back because I know they just don't understand. I'm not sure they _can_ understand.

Just last week, I had a confrontation with Agent Maryland. She was an archeologist before coming here, and is the worst damn shot in the Project, but everywhere else she's pretty adequate. Anyway, we were having lunch together, and I'm not sure if she hadn't heard that I had come from the Marines or if she just didn't care, but she started bashing on the military. Talking about how anyone with any intelligence knew better than to join, joked about how only the sadistic or desperate became soldiers, insisted that everyone in the military were uneducated heathens. I sat and listened to her for about 30 minutes, desperately holding on to the fraying edges of my temper, but I guess it was a lost cause, because I eventually snapped. Slammed my hands against the table hard enough to make it crack as I suddenly stood up, towering over her in all my rage. She was instantly silent, staring up at me with some sort of terror that I couldn't name, and the entire hall was dead silent.

"You know nothing about soldiers," I growled, the blood roaring through my ears so loud I could barely hear myself. "You never cared to hear the other side of the story. And you could never understand the demons that I face. It's not a question of who is wrong and what is right. It's not a question of what your picture perfect world cares about. It's about the people that risk their lives, every damn day, so that you can sit back here at home and be a fucking idiot. So go ahead and bat your eyes and lie right to the world. Go ahead and cry. Go ahead; believe that you were right. If it helps you sleep tonight, go on and decide who is wrong, and what is right. Cause time cannot heal what you would never recognize. Cause all I am is so much more than you could ever take. And because if you even think of disrespecting my soldier brothers and sisters one more time I will murder you with no remorse." And then I left. It was that, or murder her in cold blood. An attractive idea at the time, but I'm not trying to get court-martialed.

So yes, maybe I overreacted with South. Maybe I should have used my words instead, or maybe I should have just walked away. But I am so sick of these non-soldiers that think it's perfectly acceptable to badmouth the military. They are in a fucking military program, for chocolate's sake! If they can't respect us for the work we do every damn day, keeping them safe and giving them the rights and ability to curse us, they can at least respect the fact that we are just as human as them. We have the same needs, the same desire, and deserve the same amount of respect. Is that so hard to understand?

* * *

 _Babble Time: The song used in this chapter is_ Just A Little Girl _by Trading Yesterday._


	58. Best Christmas of All

Time: 2130\

December 25, 2533\

On unnamed planet

If I really strain my mind, I can remember what Christmas used to be like at home. Mom and dad were never huge fans of holidays, but they always went full out on Christmas. We had a large tree, at least seven feet tall, and the entire house would be covered in lights and garlands. Christmas Eve was spent cooking every yummy thing I could think of and frantic last minute wrapping. When Lillian and I turned four, mother taught us how to string popcorn to hang around the house and that became our job. We were quite good, too...when we weren't waging popcorn war through out the house.

Then, when we'd wake up the next morning, Grandmother and Grandfather would be waiting downstairs, telling us that Santa had brought them and always more than willing to give us his presents. The rest of the day would pass in smiles, laughter, stories, and a metric ton of torn paper. I was always sad to see the day end, but Grandmother told me that the special magic of Christmas existed _because_ it only lasted a day. If every day was Christmas, we wouldn't care as much. I used to think she was crazy but...guess it makes sense.

Yeah, those Christmases were amazing. They were filled with light and warmth and this knowledge that everything was right in the universe, if only for a single day.

If only they were still like that.

As a Spartan, I never celebrated Christmas. It was just another day to fight, train, and learn. That magic that I had loved so much was just sucked away until I forgot that the holiday existed at all. Then I came to Eric and he tried to reintroduce me to the celebration. Never really worked. I was reluctant at Corbulo, but since then I've been so apathetic some ODSTs that don't particularly like me have taken to calling me Scrooge. Stupid and petty, but mostly an annoyance I grudgingly tolerate. The only thing I regret is disappointing Eric, but I can't fake interest in something I find pointless. To my conditioned mind, this day is just like any other.

All of that said, there's something different this year.

Don't get me wrong; this is nothing like the Christmases I remember. There's no lights or trees or presents. In fact, I'm sitting in a hastily dug trench, covered in mud and exhausted from fighting for four days straight. The men around me aren't much better and some are decidedly worse. Even the Freelancers weren't unscathed. I'd thought that we would pass the night in silence, as we tend to do, but North, on the other side of the trench, started singing a Christmas carol. I'm not sure what it was as I didn't recognize the tune, but the soldiers around me started to join in, quietly at first and then growing in volume as the feeling started catching. Slowly, their faces began to change as the fear and exhaustion faded away, leaving behind a warm happiness and a deep seated contentment. And everything grew from there.

We had no tree, so Wash scratched a star onto the top of a Pelican, then ran away screaming when the pilot saw. There were no colorful lights, but small fires started popping up as groups came together. No fancy food, but the cooks were able to take what we had and somehow produced one of the richest meals I've had in the military. While no one had any gifts, soldiers started leaving 'presents' of extra supplies they had under the Pelican tree, allowing anyone that needed to take. And threaded through everything was the quiet singing of these men that I had just fought and bled beside. Some songs were cheerful, some were more subdued, but they all had this note of hope and happiness that couldn't be taken away by our situation. It was as far away from the memories I had, but that didn't make it lesser in any way. In fact, dare I say it, this night meant so much more.

Above it all, though, I finally understood what Grandmother meant. There was a magic in Christmas, and it could work miracles that never came about on other days. That magic is so special, so priceless, that it must belong to this day alone. Joy, hope, and love can travel with us through the year, but the power to shine pure life into a world of death...that's not something you squander. It's something you hold close to your chest and protect. So while there was nothing from my memories, when I heard a song that I could recall, I joined in the singing.

I will always cherish the Christmases of my childhood, but this...strange as it is to say it, this is the best Christmas of all.

* * *

 _Babble Time: The song used in this chapter is_ Best Christmas of All _from Mickey's Magical Christmas. As some of you may have noticed, I did a massive upload in time for the holidays, so this is my gift for you. Also, I obviously get all of these journals from songs, so if you have a song you think would fit or describe one of the characters in TBAS, please feel free to send it to me. I may not make it into a journal, but I'd love too see how all of you feel about these characters. Happy Holidays, everyone!_


	59. Author's Note

Hello everyone! It has recently come to my attention that many of you have alerted or favorited this story and are eagerly awaiting me to post the next chapter. Sadly, that day will never come. To Be A Spartan, in all forms, has come to an end. It's been an amazing ride and I've loved this story, but too many issues were starting to develop and I was struggling with showing how large the story had grown when it started so painfully small. Characters that I never meant to use again have developed, my timeline is better set, various events formed that needed to be set in time I'd already covered...gah, it was insane! Eventually, I knew that I couldn't continue as I'd started.

That's not to say that I'm giving up. Rather, I am completely rewriting the entire series under a new name: A Soldier's Heart. This new, reworked version is being posted on Archive of Our Own under the same author name, because Fanfiction and I have some unsolvable issues with each other. Updates aren't as fast as I'd like, I admit, but I'm hopeful that they'll pick up soon. So, if you enjoyed To Be A Spartan, please head over to Archive and you'll be able to read it all in an improved and more in-depth story.

Thank you all so much for the support you've given over the years for the story. It truly has kept me going, and I will be eternally grateful. *bows* I hope to hear from you on A Soldier's Heart, but if I don't, thank you for your time and may you have a blessed life.


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